The Boy with the Bread
by grednforgesgirl
Summary: From The Hunger Games to Mockingjay, get inside Peeta's head. This story is from the point of view of the boy with the bread.
1. The Hunger Games

_The Hunger Games…from Peeta's point of view._

**The Boy with the Bread**

The Hunger Games

**Part I **

"**THE TRIBUTES"**

1

I wake up late today. I smell baking bread. The room where my brothers and I sleep is empty when I sit up and look around. I wonder why they let me sleep in while they work. Then I remember today is reaping day. We've been allowed to sleep in while our parents and my eldest brother takes the workload.

Only myself and my older brother, the middle brother, might get picked. This is his last year. Seven times his name is in the reaping ball. He probably wasn't able to sleep at all last night, and that's why he's not in the small room the three of us share above the bakery. Our eldest brother is not eligible for the reaping. He managed to get through those terrifying years between 12 and 18 safely. Lucky him. I still have this year plus two more. If I don't get picked today, that is.

My stomach becomes a knot of nerves. Even though I try not to dwell on the situation normally, I feel more anxious today then I have before. My name is only in that glass ball five times. _Five times._ I have never had to take out any tesserae. It's one of the perks of being born into a market family that sells food. But some other kids my age, they're not so lucky. Like the kids from the Seam. Some who are the sole providers for their families. Some who are not so lucky as to only have their name entered only five times. It was take out tesserae or starve for them, their only two options, as they're too young to work in the mines. They would never admit this, of course, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out who takes out tesserae. They're the ones that are absolutely terrified on reaping day.

My family avoids my eyes when I arrive downstairs. Of course. They're worried, but they won't bother comforting me or being friendly. Better to numb the pain by avoiding it. Better to pretend I don't exist. I might be dead soon anyway.

"Are you hungry, Peeta?" says my dad. The only one who cares about me enough to show me affection today.

I nod my head, sit down at the table. He places a plate in front of me. Cooked meat that looks suspiciously like squirrel, and a few berries, fresh bread. A rarity, fresh bread. Normally we only get fresh bread on special occasions. Like reaping day. Today. But the squirrel is another story. We eat squirrel at least once a week, even if my mother has no idea what it is or where…rather, who, it comes from. She thinks we buy the meat in the market. But that's not true. My father, any of us besides my mother, really, trades for it out the back door when she's not around. And that's clearly what he's done today. Which means that either she's been here or he has, or both. But most likely him. He'd let her sleep in today. They're probably already in the woods by now.

I eat quickly. Today I have a cake to decorate for the display. My mother barks at me to make it extra pretty. There's no need to. I'm good at what I do. She's just nervous, and that makes her snappish. At least, that's what I tell myself. My father places the three-tiered cake in front of me, ice cold. Fresh from the refrigerator. Chocolate. My mouth waters at the smell of it. But it's not to eat. Unless no one buys it, and by then it's gone stale. I throw myself into icing it, and I'm able to almost forget about the reaping. Almost.

But the downside to this is that two o'clock comes faster than I expect it to. I put the finishing touches on an iced flower, and slide it back into the refrigerator. Or at least, we call it the refrigerator. It's really just the coldest room in the house, underground with no windows and cold concrete. Tiny to reflect back the cold. Electricity is a rarity in District 12, despite the fact that mining coal is the designation for our district, and there's not enough to run a refrigerator full-time. We don't even own one.

I dress in my nicest clothes and comb back my hair to avoid my mother snapping at me. We close up the shop, my father locks the door behind him, tucks the key in his pocket. I take one last look at the bakery, my home, as we walk away. Just in case this is the last time I will ever see it. Then we head to the square where the crowd has already assembled and cameras are flashing on the roofs to catch our every move. The ridiculously dressed Capitol people are assembling on the stage. I spot Effie Trinket's signature dyed hair. Pink this year. Clashing with her spring green suit. The bright drop of color is conspicuous in Twelve, where nearly everything is a melancholy grey because it's covered in a permanent layer of coal dust that settles on everything. One thing's for sure about District 12, we're all extremely flammable.

My dad opens his mouth as if to say something. I hope he does, but he closes it instead, and pats me and then my brother on the shoulder. Then he follows my mother and oldest brother and disappears to the crowd. My brother and I sign in, and separate, me to stand with the other kids my age somewhere in the middle of the pen that encircles us all like animals for the slaughter. They barely afford me a nod. I don't blame them. They are too scared for themselves to worry about anyone else.

On the steps of the Justice building a hasty stage has been erected, covered in cloth and banners to disguise the shabbiness of it. Three chairs sit on the stage with a podium. And those glass balls. Those glass balls that contain five slips of paper with my name on it and seven for my brother. I find him in the crowd and we exchange a nervous look but nothing more.

The mayor steps up to the podium and starts to talk. I've heard the history of Panem so many times before I don't really care enough to listen. I could practically recite the whole thing from memory. The country that rose up out of the ashes of a landmass once called North America. The disaster that destroyed it, the brutal wars and famine. What was left was Panem, a country with a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts. The Dark Days, where the districts rebelled against the Capitol. Needless to say, the Capitol won, District Thirteen was destroyed, and the rest of us were cursed, or in the Capitol's opinion blessed, with the Hunger Games.

I barely bat an eyelash at it anymore. What was any more death and destruction, especially when it happened such a long time ago? It surrounds us every day. It's impossible to escape. If you haven't become at least semi-immune to the horrors of our world then you live in a cave. Lucky you.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," finishes the mayor.

Then he reads the list of past victors, which doesn't take that long considering that there have been only two in seventy-four years. In some districts, the richer ones, the ones where kids train their whole lives for the Hunger Games, it sometimes takes nearly half an hour to read off all the names.

Only one victor from District 12 is alive. Haymitch Abernathy. And he has never failed to appear in public drunk.

He's been missing until this moment, but as if on cue when the mayor reads his name he stumbles onto the stage. He hollers something unintelligible and falls into the empty chair on the stage. As expected, he is rip-roaring drunk. The crowd gives him a token applause and this confuses him. He staggers into Effie Trinket, clearly trying to cop a feel. She barely manages to fend him off. Despite my nervousness, I can't help but feel a little entertained. She recovers quickly and bounces to the microphone, as sickly bubbly as ever.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she says. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

She goes on a bit about the honor of being in District 12. Her pink hair has shifted slightly since her encounter with Haymitch and I realize it must be a wig.

Then it's time for the drawing, and she says as she always does, "Ladies first!" Her perfectly manicured claws scramble in the girl's glass bowl. For some reason the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as she unfolds the tiny slip of paper. She takes a deep breath and I barely have time to pray for _her_ safety before she calls out a name. A name that is one in thousands. A name that might as well be _her_ name.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

2

_Oh no,_ I think. _Oh no, no, no_.

I find her immediately. I'm always aware of where she is whenever she's in the same vicinity as me, so it's not that hard. Her eyes are wide with shock. Her face is drained of color, contrasting sharply against her dark braid, her eyes on her sister. Prim is walking away, small, tiny. Alone. Walking that lonely walk to the stage. Katniss makes a strangled cry, running towards her little sister. Everyone moves out of her way. I feel the gust of wind as she rushes past. My heart is thumping horribly.

"Prim!" she shouts, reaching her little sister and throwing herself in front of Prim in a protective stance. And I know what she's going to do before she does it.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

There's a bit of confusion on the stage. District 12 has not had a volunteer in decades and the protocol has most likely faded from memory. So it confuses Effie Trinket.

"Lovely!" she says. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…" she trails off, unsure.

"What does it matter?" says the mayor. His expression is pained slightly. "Let her comes forward."

Prim is screaming hysterically. It's exactly what I feel like doing, what I'm doing on the inside. I want to scream. I want to do everything in my power to stop her from going in that arena, where there's only a 24-to-1 chance she will ever come out again. I am borderline panicking, making rational thought difficult. The only thought in my head is that she can't go in there. She can't. _She can't go in that arena._

Not without someone to protect her. Not without me.

And suddenly I'm doing something I never thought I would ever do.

I'm praying for my name to be drawn.

If it's not, I'll volunteer anyway.

"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie Trinket. "That's the spirit of the Games!" she's probably pleased to finally have a district with some action. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," she replies into the microphone. There's a bit of a whining feedback and it echoes throughout the square, which is utterly silent aside from Prim's sobbing cries.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" says Effie Trinket with a winning smile. I feel a flash of anger at this off-hand comment. Because it's not about glory. It's about protection. There is no glory in the Hunger Games. Not in District 12. Everyone sent to the Capitol dies. And the only one who hasn't, who is supposed to be basking in glory, is basking in alcohol instead. "Come on everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

I don't know what she expected to happen, but to the everlasting credit of the people of District 12 not a single person claps. The entire square is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I can sense the dissent in the crowd. Then they do something I don't expect. One by one, almost every member of the crowd presses three fingers to their lips and holds them in the air towards Katniss. An old and rarely used tradition, often seen at funerals. I don't do it. I can't. If I did that I'd be acknowledging she's going to her death. That's not going to happen.

Haymitch stumbles towards Katniss, throws an arm over her shoulders as he inspects her through a drunken haze.

"I like her! She's got lots of…spunk!" he slurs. He points towards a camera. "More than you!" he shouts. What is he thinking? Does he mean the other tributes or is he so drunk that he is actually challenging the Capitol?

Then he falls off the stage and is knocked unconscious. I don't really care that he's being drawn away on a stretcher. Because Effie Trinket's hand has been placed in the bowl of boy's names, and I prepare myself to shout out. But I find it's not necessary. She's calling out my name.

Someone was out there listening.

I'm shocked. I'm scared. I can't believe this managed to happen to me. The odds are not in my favor. Katniss is watching me with pity, dread. She knows me. I know she remembers me, what I did for her. You don't forget the person who saves you and your family from starving.

I've seen them before. The starving. The dying. The hungry. I know what it is when I see it. They raid our trash, looking for any bits of food they can find. The bakery is a popular place for the starving. I once saw a man die right in our backyard before the peacekeepers took him away. I didn't help him. I couldn't. We barely had enough stale bread to feed ourselves at the time.

When I saw _her_ in my yard, after her father died, that haunted look in her eye, her clothes hanging off her thin frame, her father's jacket dripping wet from the rain, shivering in the icy cold. I wouldn't have let her become that dead man. I couldn't let her starve. No matter how bad of a beating I took for it. I burned the bread and threw it to her.

I saw her the next day at school, kept an eye on her. She looked healthier. At least she was no longer starving. She never thanked me, but I didn't expect her to. It was enough to keep her alive.

At least now her chances of survival were better, with me in the arena with her. I'm not going to let her die. I feel better knowing at least one person won't be gunning for her. At least she'll have someone to protect her. I'm not worth much, but I'm better than nothing. I'm better than another kid trying to kill her.

The mayor has us shake hands, and her hand in mine sends a tingle up my arm. She's looking at me now like she knows she's going to have to kill me, and wants nothing to do with it. I realize she'll have to.

Because I'm not going to die until I know without a doubt that she'll be the Victor.

3

The peacekeepers lead us to the Justice Building, and I'm taken into a separate room from Katniss.

My dad's a bit late coming in. He smells like cookies when he embraces me. He gives me a package, but I see the second one. I know it's meant for Katniss. The daughter of the woman he wanted to marry. I don't doubt there's some sort of strange affection, some kind of attachment to Katniss because he loved . . . probably still loves . . . her mother.

"I'm not going to let her die, dad," I say, feeling the tears burning my eyes. There's an odd look in his eyes at my words. "I'm going to keep her alive. Katniss is going to be the Victor. I'm not going to play by their rules."

His eyes are watery, but he grips my shoulder, looking me straight in the eyes.

"I'm so proud of you, son," he says softly. Hot drops fall down my cheeks. "I mean, I don't want you to die, of course . . . but . . . "

"I know," I say. I can barely choke the words out. He hugs me again, holding me longer and tighter than completely necessary.

"I love you, Peeta," he says, wiping his eyes when we break apart. "I'm sorry. I love you."

"I know, dad, I love you too. I'm sorry too."

He seemed reluctant to leave.

"Take care of her family, dad, please. Make sure they don't starve."

"You know I won't. I won't let them starve. I . . ."

"I know."

He hugs me one more time, patting me on the back. And I want him to leave before I start sobbing. Before I can't take it anymore and I completely break down. I don't want my dad's last moment with me to be me being a crying wreck.

But once he's gone, I let the tears flow freely. When my brothers come in, I try to staunch the tears with my sleeve. They can barely look at me. They give me hugs and wish me luck, but nothing more than that.

Then it's my mother's turn.

I'm shocked when she puts her arms around me, holds me for more than a few seconds.

"Maybe District 12 will finally have a victor," she says when we break apart. For a moment I feel heartened by this vote of confidence. It's not going to happen, of course, but it still makes me feel better. Perhaps I'm wrong about her. Maybe she actually does care.

But then she crushes any hope, takes back anything nice she just said to me. She's good at that. Good at manipulating people. I just wish I wasn't her perpetual victim.

"She's a survivor, that one."

She.

_She._

As in Katniss. Not me. Not her son. But a girl she could care less about. And now she's walking out the door without a second glance.

When I'm left alone, I let the walls come down until the peacekeepers come to take me to the car. But I don't try to hide my tears. What was the point in hiding them anymore?

Katniss watches me on the trip. I think she's checking me out. Thinking how hard it will be to fight me, what it will take to bring me down. I doubt she wants to kill me, but this is the Hunger Games. And only one person comes out. And she wants it to be her as much as I want it to be her.

The camera lenses flash in our direction as we board the train, and we pause so they can get a good look at us.

The train is incredible. Or, would be, if it wasn't taking me to my death. Haymitch, who doesn't look so hot after his nose-dive off the stage, goes to take a nap. My compartment is big, luxurious. I get my own bathroom and everything. The drawers are filled with clothes. I shower and change. The richly woven Capitol clothes are like nothing I've ever worn before. I mostly hang around my room during the hour before dinner, munching on my dad's cookies and watching the scenery roll by out the window, until Effie comes and collects me. She leaves to get Katniss.

She's changed her clothes as I have. She's got a token, a golden pin. I wonder who gave it to her, whether it was her mother or Prim or her friend Gale. Just the thought of him makes me jealous.

I notice the pin's a mockingjay. The reason I love Katniss. Well, perhaps not the reason, but the trigger. I'll never forget what my dad said, why her mom left my dad for Katniss's dad. _'Because when he sings, even the birds stop to listen.'_ And the same is true with Katniss. She has no idea what her voice can do. She is just like a mockingjay.

Effie asks where Haymitch is, and I tell her. She seems relieved, and I don't really blame her. Not dealing with Haymitch's drunkenness is a relief in and of itself.

The food is incredible. I've never seen so much good, fresh food in one place. Katniss and I both stuff ourselves, not paying heed to Effie's advice to hold off. When Effie makes a comment about last year's tributes not having any table manners, Katniss freezes, an irritated look on her face. I understand why this comment would make her angry. The kids last year were from the Seam, like Katniss. They never had enough to eat. The perpetually hungry. Katniss eats with her hands the rest of the meal, effectively irritating Effie. It's a bit funny.

I'm stuffed to bursting when the meal's over and feeling queasy. Katniss looks like she trying to keep her food down, too. We watch the other reapings. Our competition is diverse, but powerful and crafty. The careers, the tributes from 1, 2, and 4, are vicious-looking. The girl from district 5 looks sneaky. The saddest one is the twelve-year old from district eleven, with no one to take her place. And district 12. I'm pleased to see my emotions were hidden well and all I look is a bit scared and surprised. Not desperate. Not defiant. Good. Defiance won't keep Katniss alive.

They play the anthem, and when it's over Effie's in a state over her wig being crooked. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

I can't hold it in anymore. Effie Trinket is so ridiculously stupid that this comment makes me laugh.

"He was drunk," I say, "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," says Katniss, smirking. I grin. It's the first direct thing she's said to me. The first joke we've ever shared.

"Yes," hisses Effie. "How odd you two find it funny."

For whatever reason her irritation just wants to make me laugh. Maybe because she's awful serious for someone dressed so ridiculously. It's hard to take her serious. Until she reminds us that Haymitch is our lifeline in these Games. I stop laughing. She's right. Plus there's that added thing of me wanting to keep Katniss alive instead of myself.

Speaking of Haymitch. He staggers into the compartment, reeking of alcohol. "I miss supper?" He slurs. Then he vomits all over the floor, falling into the mess. Effie Trinket hops away from the pool of sick.

"So laugh away!"


	2. Part I: The Tributes

4

Katniss and I manage to overcome our shock and disgust and get him back to his compartment. We haul him in the bathtub and turn the water on him. Katniss seems to be a little hesitant, and I realize she probably doesn't want to clean up Haymitch. Then I realize I don't really want her to. This could be the perfect opportunity to explain to Haymitch my plan. Maybe then he'll take us seriously and sober up a bit when he realizes I'm not the average tribute.

"It's okay," I say to her, "I'll take it from here."

She looks very relieved, but her brows draw together, as though she's wondering after my motives. Probably thinks I'm trying to get in good with Haymitch and be his favorite. She wasn't far off.

"All right," she says, already taking a step back. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

"No." I say firmly. The last thing I wanted was an extra pair of ears and a mouth to regurgitate. "I don't want them."

She's gone in a flash. I don't blame her. The last thing I myself want to do is clean Haymitch up. When her footsteps had fully faded, I turned the water on icy cold. Haymitch jumps up and lashes out, sending flecks of vomit and water everywhere.

"Clean yourself up, Haymitch. I've got something I want to talk to you about."

He looks at me like he doesn't understand what I'm saying. I huff in irritation, and grab the soap and the brush and put them in Haymitch's hands, then turn the water back on warm. He blinks down at them blearily. Then he groans, and I know he understands what he's supposed to do. The curtain snaps shut. There's less a chance of Haymitch going back to sleep and drowning in his own vomit if I stay in the room, so that's what I do. He throws his clothes onto the floor, where they land with a _splat!_

I pass him a towel and a robe when he's turned the water off. He groans again, and slides the curtain back. Then he spots me, and looks at me like he can't quite register why I'm there.

"What are you doing here, boy?"

"I want to die."

Haymitch snorts, laughing his head off.

"You'll have a good chance of doing that, then."

"What I mean is I don't want to be the Victor. I want to keep Katniss alive. And to do that I have to die."

He looks at me in shock.

"You _what?_"

"I want Katniss to win. I want to keep _her _alive."

He still clearly can't register what I'm saying.

"I don't want to win!"

Haymitch rubs his face, blinks several times, then walks out of his bathroom. I follow him into his bedroom.

"Look, kid, quit bothering me. Let me sleep in peace."

"This isn't a joke!"

But he collapses on the bed, and starts snoring. Frustrated, I kick his bed, but he barely stirs. I suppose the only thing I can do to get him to pay attention is to sober him up enough to listen to what I have to say. And right now he's clearly too drunk to even remember I was there.

So I leave, and spend the night thinking of ways to get Haymitch interested enough to stay mostly sober.

Effie wakes me up in the morning, and I raid the drawers in my room for something to wear that isn't covered in puke. Simple pants and shoes. A collared shirt. I showered the night before, so I'm reasonably clean. I comb my hair.

Haymitch is the only one in the dining car. He's already drinking. I press my lips together.

"Was that you in my compartment last night, boy?" says Haymitch. I sit, and pick up a roll.

"Yes. You're welcome."

"Hm. You're a lot more feminine than I thought, then."

"What?" I say, completely baffled. He grins at a joke only he gets.

"Oh, wait, she was _after_ you were pestering me."

I flush, understanding what he is saying. He chuckles.

Just then both Effie and Katniss walk in, Effie brushing past Katniss with a cup of coffee. Haymitch greets Katniss with an unusual enthusiasm. But then, he's not so drunk yet and he probably spent the night with a poor girl from the Capitol. I suppose as a Victor, even a consistently drunk one, it's not that hard to get women to sleep with you.

He gestures Katniss to sit down, and she's served a platter of food as soon as she does. She stares in wonder at it, her eyes lingering on the orange juice. She turned her nose up at the coffee. She stares at the hot chocolate like she doesn't know what it was. Then I realized she probably doesn't.

"It's hot chocolate," I explain. "It's good."

She hesitantly takes an experimental sip, then her eyes go wide, and she drains the rest of the cup. The corners of my mouth twitch in amusement. Then she starts stuffing herself again. I should do the same, because I realize if I don't eat and build up my strength then I'll wear down faster in the arena, but I just can't bring myself to do so. I'm just not that hungry.

Haymitch keeps pouring alcohol into his glass of cranberry juice, and it's all I can do not to knock it out of his hand. Katniss watches Haymitch with a disgust that matches my own when she's finished eating.

"So," she says, when she clearly can't stand it anymore, "you're supposed to give us advice."

"Here's some advice. Stay alive." He bursts out laughing. Like this is some big joke. Like our lives aren't on the line. I realize he cares more about poisoning himself with alcohol than keeping two kids alive. No wonder District 12 hasn't had a victor since him. I suddenly can't stand it anymore.

"That's very funny," I say coldly, then I knock the glass out of his hand, where it falls to the floor and shatters. "Only not to us."

Haymitch sits for a moment, considering me. I wonder how much of last night he remembers. If he remembers my request. Then he punches me in the jaw.

I go flying, my jaw throbbing. I've been hit plenty of times before, by my mother. So Haymitch hitting me doesn't really bother me. The only difference between him and my mom are Haymitch is a lot stronger. By the time I've recovered enough to turn around, I find Katniss has driven a knife an inch think in the table, between Haymitch's hand and his bottle. She's snarling, and I can't help but feel some admiration towards her.

Haymitch stares between us, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, what's this?" he says, smirking slightly and looking at us with a newfound appreciation. Katniss has done my job for me. He's actually paying attention now. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I get a handful of ice from the table and start to place it on my jaw, but Haymitch stops me, telling me to let it show. The audience will think I've fought with another tribute. It's all about the show. Nevermind about the rules. He turns to Katniss.

"Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

Katniss sets her face in a determined expression, her eyes lighting up. She unsticks the knife, throws it, and lodges it firmly in the seam between two panels.

If I was admiring her before, I'm in awe now. Beautiful and deadly.

She's the clear winner.

Haymitch looks impressed. He has us stand in the middle of the room. He circles, examining us. I stand up straight, determined to make a good impression. He declares us not entirely hopeless. Well, that's comforting. But it is an improvement over a drunk Haymitch, so I'll take what I can get.

"Alright," says Haymitch, "I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say."

Good enough for me, if he keeps his end of the bargain.

"Fine," I say. Katniss immediately launches into asking questions.

"One thing at a time," says Haymitch, stopping her and picking up his bottle again. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station, and you'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do, but don't resist."

"But—" starts Katniss.

"No buts," says Haymitch, walking towards the door, "Don't resist."

The door shuts behind him, and we're encased in darkness. I realize we've entered a tunnel. Katniss has frozen. The longer the tunnel goes on, the more strangled her breathing becomes, her face filled with fear and loathing. I think this might have something to do with the way her father died, trapped deep underground in the mines. I want to say something to her, to ease her fear, but realize if I did I wouldn't be helping anyway. She wouldn't like that I had noticed the way she was feeling.

When finally the train starts to slow and the tunnel ends, I'm blinded by the brightness of the sun. I'm genuinely curious when I rush to the window with Katniss at my side. I want to see what I've seen only on television. The Capitol. It's incredible, of course, with the shiny buildings, and so many different colors that are too bright to be natural. The people are bizarre-looking, like multicolored ugly birds. People begin to point at us when they recognize what they're looking at. A tribute train. Fresh blood. They're like vultures. 

Katniss withdrawals from the window, looking disgusted. But I stay put. There's sponsors in that crowd. If I play the people right, it might be enough to keep Katniss alive. I want the people to like me. That's what it'll take. I have to do this right.

I wave my hand and smile, trying to look as likable as possible. Some in the crowd acknowledge what I'm doing and wave back, but most gawk. This doesn't really dishearten me at all by the time we pull into the station and are blocked from view. I immediately stop waving, then turn to Katniss, who's watching me with an expression close to disbelief. I shrug, suddenly more self-conscious than if the whole crowd had laughed at me.

"Who knows?" I say. "One of them may be rich."

Then she looks at me as if she sees me in a whole new light, and her expression becomes hard. I know what's on her mind. I'd be thinking the same thing if I were in her shoes. She thinks I'm fighting to kill her.

If she only knew how mistaken she was.

5

My style team has scrubbed me down until I'm raw, trimmed my hair, waxed my eyebrows, which is probably more painful than a hundred punches from both Haymitch and my mother, and put a foul-smelling cream on my face to soak for half an hour while they scrub and trim my nails. When they take the cream off, they explain it will stop my facial hair from growing for months, or until they put another cream on to reverse the effect.

I'm annoyed with this, but I take Haymitch's advice, and don't argue with them. Besides, I can't complain. It means I don't have to shave.

When my stylist, Portia, arrives, I'm a bit taken aback by how normal she looks. My prep team had looked like green, pink, and orange stalks of candy with different colored hair, only stranger. She's dark-skinned, her teeth are unnaturally white, with matching white-blonde hair, and she's wearing too much dark eyeliner, but aside from that she looks pretty normal. At least she's not purple.

"Hello, Peeta. I'm your stylist, Portia."

"Hello," I say. She gives me a bit of a smile in return and instructs me to remove my robe. She doesn't touch me, but examines every bit of me with her eyes, until she's done and has me put my robe back on.

"So," she says, as food arrives. It's pretty extravagant for a simple meal. "My partner, Cinna, and I are thinking of dressing you in identical costumes. It has to reflect the district, of course. But we think the whole coal-miner's thing is so overdone it's time for a change."

"So what am I going to be wearing?" I ask curiously. She smiles. I know I'm probably not going to like what she's going to say.

"Fire."

"Don't worry," she says a few hours later, when I'm dressed in a too-tight black unitard with boots and a fluttering cape of red, orange and yellow. She seems positively giddy about setting me on fire. How lovely. "It's synthetic. You won't get burnt."

Why do I find it hard to believe her? Oh, because she's completely crazy.

Katniss looks relieved to see me. She looks very pretty in minimal makeup. Her face looks like herself. But it stops there. She looks just as ridiculous as I do in a matching costume. Everyone besides us and Cinna are incredibly giddy and excited. Cinna seems a lot more normal than Portia, but they balanced each other out. I don't doubt they make good partners. They both seem very creative.

Maybe a little too creative, considering I'm about to be set on fire.

"What do you think?" says Katniss to me in a whisper when Cinna and Portia have arranged us and our costumes on the chariot pulled by four coal-black horses. "About the fire?"

What do I think? I think this is more suicide than going into the area. But instead I say through gritted teeth, "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine."

"Deal," she says, her face set. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

Speaking of Haymitch, I haven't seen him since we left the train. I really hope he hasn't forgotten about us. But he wouldn't, would he? We're a pair of fighters, right?

"Where is Haymitch, anyway?" I voice out loud. "Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame."

We both burst out laughing. We're both probably so nervous that the only way to release some of that is to joke about it.

The music starts, the doors open, and the snow-white horses pulling the tributes from District 1 pull out, and the crowd roars for them. One by one the chariots file out, until we're almost to the door. District 11 is rolling out when Cinna lights us on fire.

Katniss gasps, but there's nothing to panic about, because we're not getting burned to a crisp. There's only a tickling sensation. I look behind us and see the flickering flames. Cinna climbs up and lights our headdresses.

"It works," he says, sighing in relief. He tucks a hand under Katniss's chin, rising her head up. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

Cinna jumps off and he's shouting something, but the music's so loud I can't hear him. Then he shouts again and gestures. I understand what he wants us to do, but I can't figure out why.

"What's he saying?" says Katniss, clearly dazzled as she looks at me on fire. She looks absolutely incredible. Maybe Cinna and Portia are onto something.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," I say, intertwining her right hand in my left. A thrill runs through me. Her fingers are calloused, slightly rough from years of hunting in the woods and trying to put food on the table. But her palm is soft and her hand is cool. Cinna gives us the thumbs up, and we enter the city.

"District Twelve!" the voice cries over the loudspeaker. The entire crowd gasps when they see us. We're drawing attention away from the tributes ahead of us. I raise my hand only a second sooner than Katniss, smiling broadly and waving, my head held high. Katniss's grip grows painfully tight, but I don't mind. It calms my nerves.

Katniss starts to blow kisses when we're a bit farther into our journey to the training center. She's shaking. She's giddy. I realize Cinna and Portia really have given us a great advantage.

"_Katniss! Peeta!_ _Twelve, Twelve!"_ the crowd chants. Start to feel a bit giddy myself. Maybe this is enough to keep Katniss alive.

Katniss is thrown a red rose, which she catches and sniffs delicately. She blows a kiss to the crowd, and a hundred hands go up while their owners scream, increasing the din in the streets.

The coal-black horses trot into the city circle. Katniss's grip loosens on my hand, but I don't want to let go of her. She's the only thing keeping me steady.

I look at her, properly for the first time. She's stunning in her flames. She takes my breath away. I gulp and find my voice.

"No, don't let go of me," I say. "Please," then I realize I should add a joke, so I don't sound so desperate. "I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," she says, tightening her grip on my hand again. There's a slight bit of sadness in her eyes that I don't understand.

The chariots come to a halt right in front of President Snow's mansion. The music ends and silence fills the circle except for the snorting of the horses and the flickering of the synthetic flames in my ears. President Snow steps up to the balcony and starts his speech. The screen cuts away from him during his speech to the tributes. We're getting a lot of screen time, Katniss and I. As it gets darker, we become the most noticeable thing on the screen. Even in the aerial shots, the flames are the first thing your eyes are drawn to. I find myself watching the screen and feeling a jolt in my stomach every time the camera zooms in on Katniss.

When finally the anthem plays and the chariots start moving again, all I can think about is Katniss.

In no time we pull into the training center and Portia and Cinna are removing our capes and extinguishing them while the other tributes shoot us dirty looks. I'm in conflict about whether or not this is a good thing and what it means for when we're in the arena. What it will mean for Katniss's chances.

Katniss's fingers force open stiffly. I let go of her hand and both massage out the stiffness.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me," I say to Katniss. "I was getting a little shaky there."

"It didn't show," she says politely. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," I say before I can stop myself. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you."

I smile at her shyly. She blushes and blinks several times. Suddenly her face becomes hard. And then she stands on tiptoe, and kisses me on the cheek, right on my bruise. My cheek tingles as she pulls away. She smiles brightly at me, throwing me for a complete loop.

She then flaunts away towards Cinna, leaving me there with my mouth open, wondering at the strange ways which girl's brains worked.


	3. Chapter 3

6

I was genuinely trying to give her a compliment. I don't understand why this struck a nerve with her. I don't understand why she responded the way she did.

As we step into a shiny glass elevator, I'm pondering this. I can't think of a reason why she acted the way she did. Then I remember I'm supposed to be thinking of ways to kill her.

Oh.

Right.

Now I understand. She thought I was being fake. That I'm trying to get in her good books. Trying to deceive her into thinking I could be trusted.

It didn't really matter if she thought she could trust me or not, though it would be nice if she did. It would be helpful, of course, but it's not essential. And it would be thrilling if she trusted me.

For one mad moment I consider telling her my plan, but I realize that's probably not a good idea. There's always people watching. If there's not people, there's cameras. And I've kept my feelings for her hidden for so long that I can't really bring myself to do it now.

Besides, there's no telling what she would do if I told her now that I'd been in love with her for years. When she thinks I'm planning on killing her.

Effie Trinket's going on and on about what a splash we made at the opening ceremonies. I tune out her words in her strange capitol accent. I'm more sulking than anything. I don't really pay that much attention until she mentions sponsors and Haymitch and strategies.

What was my strategy? The only thing I had to go on so far was to keep Katniss alive. To make sure she gets as many sponsors as possible. But I realize that's not going to be enough.

I need to talk to Haymitch. Alone.

But I haven't seen him since he promised to help us. He's not really keeping his end of the bargain. If I don't see him soon, I'm going to find him and take every ounce of liquor he has.

" . . . but I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls!'"

I'm contemplating the possibility that Effie Trinket is the stupidest person I've ever met.

"Unfortunately," says Effie after we congratulate her on her cleverness. "I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that." She sets her face into a determined expression. "But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary."

Maybe I'm underestimating her.

The plush quarters I'm staying in are bigger than my entire house. The lights from the city twinkle through the glass window-walls. The bed's so large I'll have to crawl to get to the center of it. The glass chandelier glitters in its own light. The fabrics are bright colored and complementary. The bathroom's larger than it needs to be.

I shower and change my clothes, into black trousers and jacket and a green shirt.

Food appears at the touch of a button. It's incredible. But what's unbelievable is that Capitol citizens live like this while we struggle to survive every day. Like Katniss, whose only way to feed her family is to hunt illegally, and risk getting shot. Like my family, who lives on stale bread. The Capitol has more than enough food to share. Why do they get to gorge themselves while the Districts starve and scrape by?

The odds aren't in our favor, that's for sure.

This makes me start thinking of the Games again, and how badly I need to talk to Haymitch. I wonder where he is. I might as well find him. I've got nothing better to do until dinner anyway.

The carpet muffles my footsteps. I spare a second to look at Katniss's door. I hear the shower running. Good. She's out of the way for the time being. I go to the sitting room, and Cinna's there.

"Where's Haymitch?" I ask him. He looks at me, but doesn't question me. Cinna seems perceptive, so I wonder if he knows why. Then I realize that's ridiculous.

"He's on the roof."

He leads me to the door to the roof, and points up the stairs. I hesitate.

"Why would they let us up here? Aren't they worried someone might jump?"

"No," he says, shaking his head and smiling ironically. "You can't"

"Why?"

But he just shakes his head, and walks back down the hall. Nonplussed, I climb the stairs and enter a dome with a door. I open it and walk out.

It's windy. My hair whips into my eyes and my jacket blows open a bit. Haymitch is leaning on the rail, watching the city with a glass of clear liquid in his hand. I wonder what he's doing up here. I go to stand next to him. He ignores me and takes another drink.

"I need to talk to you," I said after a while.

"Figured you would," he says gruffly.

"Is this a good place to talk?"

I'm sure he knows what I'm talking about. Ever since I've left Twelve I've felt like I've been watched. Haymitch has been a victor for twenty-four years. If he hasn't figured out that we're probably under constant surveillance by now, then he's dafter then I think and there's probably no point talking to him at all because he won't be much help.

He's quiet for a moment, and takes another drink.

"Come look at the garden."

The garden's beautiful, of course. The flowers make the place smell nice. Haymitch sits down on a bench.

"They can't hear us here," he says. "What's so damn important?"

"Do you remember what I told you on the train?"

"Vaguely. You said something funny. I can't remember what. So quit wasting time and tell me what this is about."

"I want to keep Katniss alive."

Haymitch doesn't react the way he did on the train. He's quiet for a long time, staring down at his drink, swirling it around a bit. I'm waiting on tenterhooks to know what he's going to say. I really hope he'll help me in this. Finally, he takes a deep breath, still looking at his drink.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is, boy?"

"We're already in danger," I say. Haymitch chuckles.

"You got a point there," he says, looking up at me. "But you're talking about something completely different. You're talking about not playing by the Capitol's rules. You know that could be interpreted as rebellion."

"What can they do? Send me to my death?"

Haymitch bursts out laughing this time.

"I like you, boy. You're clever."

I give him a twisted smile. I know I'm winning him over.

"Alright," he says. "I'll help you."

"Thank you," I say, incredibly relieved. Haymitch stands.

"Why do you put her life above yours?"

"Because I love her," I answer. I muscle in his cheek twitches. He looks sad. But his expression is so unlike the Haymitch I know that I'm not quite sure I'm reading him right.

"I figured that was it," he says. Then he picks up a smooth rock and bounces it a few times in his hand. "You're serious about this, right? You're not going to chicken out when it comes down to just you and her in that arena? This isn't just some tactic to try and win me over?"

"I've never been more serious in my life," I say. "I can't let her die. I've loved her since I was five."

"Alright, boy, I believe you."

He walks back towards the railing, and I know the real conversation's over. I follow him. When he's about five feet from the railing, he stops.

"Think fast," he says. Then he tosses the rock over the railing. I don't understand what he's talking about until the rock comes hurling back at me. I barely manage to catch it.

"You'll do," he says.

"What's it for?" I ask.

"Keeps the tributes from having . . . accidents."

I've never seen a tribute try and commit suicide before, but it wouldn't surprise me if it's happened in the past. They probably just haven't put it on the television. Haymitch shrugs, throws back the rest of his drink, and leaves the roof.

I open my palm and look at the smooth rock for a few moments. Then I hurl it over the side, catching it again. I do this a few times. Then the door opens and Effie's there.

"It's time for dinner," she says, then leaves after I've acknowledged her with a nod of my head. I toss the rock back into the garden, where it lands among rocks just like it, blending into the crowd.

Cinna and Portia are on the balcony connected to the dining room that overlooks the Capitol. I go to stand next to them. Portia smiles at me and Cinna nods his head.

"Those costumes were incredible," I compliment the stylists. They both smile at me.

"Thanks," says Cinna conversationally. "You and Katniss made a good impression."

I'm not quite sure what to say to this, but am spared from having to think up something by the arrival of Katniss and Effie.

Katniss smiles as me, and this one seems genuine. My heart skips a beat.

We're all offered wine. I take one, but know I'm going to go light on the stuff. Katniss hesitates before taking hers. Haymitch shows up just as dinners being served. We exchange a look, but there's nothing to indicate our conversation on the roof ever happened.

I participate little in the small talk during dinner. I throw in a few words here and there, but other than that I'm quiet. About halfway through her glass of wine, Katniss squints blearily and puts a hand to her head. She switches to water. I let out a breath of a laugh.

A large white cake is set on the table. It's drenched in alcohol, and I know they're going to set it on fire. I'm something of a cake expert. I cooked most of them in the bakery, and I always did the decorating. I never particularly cared for this kind of cake, though. It's a bit too dramatic and costs a lot of money to make.

The girl lights it on fire, and Katniss jumps a bit, then looks at the cake in doubt.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" Then she looks at the girl. "That's the last thing I wa—oh! I know you!"

I'm as shocked as the rest of the adults around the table. Katniss looks at the girl like she's positive she knows her from somewhere, but I can't possibly grasp how she knows a servant from the Capitol. The girl's eyes widen in alarm, and she shakes her head frantically. She's scared out of her wits, but it's clear she recognizes Katniss, as well. I wonder why she doesn't just flat-out deny it since it's obvious she knows she's going to be in trouble for this.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss," snaps Effie. "How could you possibly know an Avox? The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" asks Katniss. I'm wondering the same thing.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut out her tongue so she can't speak," answers Haymitch. His explanation is horrible, but I know better than to voice this thought. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

Recognition dawns in Katniss's eyes, but it's clear, at least to me, that she's placed where she knew the girl from. I'm intensely curious. How could she possibly know an Avox from the Capitol?

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order," says Effie. "Of course, you don't really know her." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself.

Katniss doesn't look as convinced as Effie does, though. But it's obvious the wine is affecting her, and she's not thinking clearly.

"No, I guess not," she stammers. I realize she's going to need a bailout on this one. "I just—"

"Delly Cartwright!" I say, snapping my fingers. She's the first person that pops into my head. Delly Cartwright looks absolutely nothing like the Avox girl, so it was a pretty good pick. Katniss looks at me gratefully. "That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly."

Katniss jumps on this, recovering quickly. "Of course!" she says. "that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair."

"Something about the eyes, too." I say, and everyone at the table relaxes. Our eyes linger on each other for a second longer.

"Oh, well. If that's all it is," says Cinna. I'm grateful to him for changing the subject. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."

Quite appropriate, really. The frosting on the cake is crispy, the cake itself warm, and the ice cream in the middle cool. It's better than anything I could bake back in 12.

We move into the sitting room when we're done, and watch the recap of the opening ceremonies. I'd watched most of it on the large television screens anyway, but it's quite different sitting in this plush room on comfortable couches instead of in the middle of the action. From this view we stick out, not just because of the fire, but because we're the only tributes holding hands.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch.

"Cinna's," says Portia.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion," says Haymitch. I look at him in alarm. He looks right at me when he says; "Very nice."

'_You know that could be interpreted as rebellion.'_

I gulp.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session," says Haymitch to Katniss and I. "Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it. Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

As I walk out the room after Katniss, I hear Haymitch say; "They're quite a pair, those two."

I wonder what he's playing at.

I walk down the hall with Katniss. I'm still curious how she knows this Capitol Avox. So I lean against her doorframe before she can walk in. She looks at me.

"So," I say. "Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here."

Her expressions are always so minute that it's hard to pick them up sometimes. She keeps her true feelings hidden well, but if I look at the crease in between her eyes I know when she's worried. When her bottom lip pouts out a little she's sad. When she bites her lip, she's conflicted. Katniss goes through all these emotions just now. I know what she's feeling, but not the thoughts behind them. I know what, but not why. But she's hesitating, and I remember how I always feel as if someone is watching me here, and the roof where we can't be overheard.

"Have you been on the roof yet?" I say. She shakes her head. "Cinna showed me," a half-truth. I didn't want her to know I'd been talking with Haymitch. She'd think I'm trying to get in his good books again, and I don't really want to give her even more incentive to come after me once the Games start. "You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though."

Her face relaxes, but she does seem a bit more nervous, and her eyes flick to the corners of the hall.

"Can we just go up?" she says.

"Sure, come on."

I lead her to the roof, and she gasps as she looks at the view. It's really quite something now that it's really dark outside. I don't think I've ever seen so many lights in one place. We walk to the railing and Katniss looks straight down.

"I asked Cinna why they let us up here," I say, wanting to make conversation. "Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?"

"What'd he say?"

"You can't," Rather than lie to her, I show her. I reach out to touch the force field, and an electric jolt runs through me, throwing my hand back. It doesn't hurt, but it makes a zapping sound that sounds gruesome. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof."

"Always worried about our safety," she says, with the same twisted ironic smile that Cinna used. She looks around the roof. Her hair blows softly in the wind. My heart rate quickens. "Do you think they're watching us now?"

"Maybe," I say. I know they probably are. Haymitch wouldn't have brought me to the garden and kept his head down like that if they weren't. "Come see the garden."

I lead her to the garden, and look at her expectantly. She takes a blossom in her hand gently and examines it.

"We were hunting in the woods one day," she whispers. I have to stand a bit closer to hear her. "Hidden, waiting for game."

"You and your father?" I whisper back. I know it's not true, but I don't want her to know I've been watching her as much as I have.

"No, my friend Gale." A pang of jealously hits me, but I beat it back. I listen intently for every word. "Suddenly all the birds stop singing at once. Except one, as if it were giving a warning call. Then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. There was a boy with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it."

She pauses, her eyes fixed on a point in the distance, locked in a memory. One she feels terrible about. Guilt hangs over her eyes like a shadow.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere," she continues. "I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator. They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened."

"Did they see you?" I ask.

"I don't know, we were under a shelf of rock," she says, but I know she's lying. I saw the recognition in the Avox girl's eyes.

I don't quite know what to make of this story. She clearly feels guilty for not helping the boy and the girl, but there's nothing she could have done. I'm glad she didn't help them. If she had, she probably would have ended up as an Avox too.

"You're shivering," I say, just noticing it. It's not that cold out here, but I'm sure the combination of it and her story has driven the warmth from her. I take off my jacket and wrap it around her. She takes a step back, hesitating. She still doesn't trust me. Or she's afraid to trust me. But then she gives in and accepts my jacket, which is too big for her. I secure it with the top button.

"They were from here?" I say. I'm still thinking about her story, how chilling it is. What could they possibly have done for the capitol to do something so horrible as cut out her tongue and kill her friend? Then I know when she nods. They ran from the Capitol. The Capitol would never let that one slide.

"Where do you suppose they were going?" I ask. There's nothing beyond District 12 besides the ruins of District 13. Maybe they planned on living in the wilderness. They couldn't go to 13. They say in school it's been uninhabitable since it was destroyed. But I realized that might not be the whole truth.

"I don't know that," she says. "Or why they would leave here."

I know why. Trapped like rats. Forced to dress ridiculously and gorge themselves while people outside starve. Guilt.

"I'd leave here," I blurt out. Then I realize I've said that a bit too loudly. I look around nervously. There's no one here but us. But that doesn't mean they're not watching. I laugh. "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime."

I'm pretty good at this covering thing. I've been covering up for my dad and brothers from my mum for years. I'm the only one that's as good as she is at deceiving people. Sometimes, I wish it's a talent I had never inherited.

"It's getting chilly. We'd better go in," I say, thinking we'd better get out before I say something stupid again. It's warmer inside the dome, almost like a greenhouse.

"Your friend Gale," I say conversationally. Though I know the answer, I want to break the ice about Gale so I can question her further. See if she feels the same way about him as he clearly feels about her. It's not like he makes an effort to hide it. "He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?"

"Yes," she says. I can hear the familiar note in her voice that typically occurs when people talk about those they know. "Do you know him?"

"Not really," I say. Aside from when he trades my father squirrels and I'm around, I've never had any close interaction with him. "But I hear the girls talk about him a lot." I chance a glance at her. She doesn't look jealous at this statement. But she's good at hiding her emotions. "I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other."

"No, we're not related," she says. Oh well. I had at least hoped she's just sum up her relationship with Gale by saying 'yes' but she could probably care less what I think about her and Gale. I nod, fighting off the disappointment.

"Did he come to say good-bye to you?"

"Yes," she says, and I notice she's watching me closely. I hide my emotions more carefully, keeping my face neutral. "So did your father. He brought me cookies."

I know this already. But I try to look surprised by this news. I've gone so far into myself that I've reached that zone, where I could lie to anyone about anything. It's just an act now.

"Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys."

She looks surprised.

"He knew your mother when they were kids," I say. Understatement of the century. I should get an award for that one. She looks even more surprised.

"Oh, yes," she says politely. I can tell we've never been the subject of conversation at her house the way her family has been at mine. But this doesn't surprise me. "She grew up in town."

All too soon, or not soon enough depending on how you look at it, we're at Katniss's door. She gives me back my jacket.

"See you in the morning, then," she says.

"See you," I answer, thinking I couldn't get out of there fast enough. When I get back to my room all I do is kick my shoes off and toss my jacket away from me. I flop on the bed. The numbness fades, and a confusing jumble of emotions overcomes me. I'm happy that I've had my first real conversation with Katniss alone. That she trusted me enough to confide in me such a dangerous story. The fear of what's to come is there. The knot of anxiety in my stomach isn't likely to go away anytime soon.

As much as I analyze everything she said and reacted to about Gale, I can't come up with anything more than I knew in the first place.

My last thought before I fall asleep is of the Avox girl, and what it would be like to never be able to speak again.


	4. Chapter 4

7

I have nightmares about the girl, about never being able to speak. My mother screams at me, saying she hopes I die. I'm watching Gale and Katniss laugh and hug and kiss. I'm caught on fire many times. I wake up feeling like I'm choking and locating my tongue with my teeth to make sure it's still there. I drink some water to clear my throat before I shower.

When I'm done I find clothes laying on the end of the bed. The black pants are tight, but not uncomfortably so, and the burgundy top is so soft that I forgive Portia for the tight pants. The leather boots are comfortable, too, so I can't really complain too much.

I run into Haymitch on the way down to the dining room.

"Changed your mind?" he says.

"Never," I respond. He shrugs. I don't see why he cares. I can tell Katniss is going to be his favorite, anyway. I've annoyed him too much. But he is risking a lot to give me what I want, so maybe that's the real issue.

Katniss is the only one in the dining hall and she's wearing the exact same thing I am. She looks irritated when she sees what I'm wearing. I fill my plate and sit down next to her. She's clearly not in the mood for conversation, so I don't bother speaking to her. All she does though is turn a roll over and over in her hand and stare at the basket she's taken it from nervously.

Since today's the first day of training, I can't really blame her for being nervous. I'm nervous myself, but I'm a bit better at hiding it than she is, and I haven't lost my appetite. I eat, and when Haymitch has eaten enough for several people, he pushes his plate away and sighs. Then he pulls a flask from his pocket and takes several gulps from it. This annoys me, but I'd promised not to interfere with his drinking, and so far he's more than kept his end of the bargain.

"So," he says, "let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

At first I think this is a good idea because it'll give me more time alone with him to discuss strategy, but I realize this will also cut down on the time Katniss gets with him, and I want her to be well-prepared. So I decide I'll let Katniss make the call.

"Why would you coach us separately?" asks Katniss.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," answers Haymitch.

Secret skill? Peeta Mellark? Ha! The only secret skill I have is decorating cakes, and that's not exactly secret.

Katniss and I exchange a look.

"I don't have any secret skills," I say. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

She looks slightly taken aback by this.

"You can coach us together," she says. Alright then, decision made. I nod in agreement.

"All right," says Haymitch, leaning in a bit. "So give me some idea of what you can do."

"I can't do anything," I say automatically. "Unless you count baking bread."

Haymitch snorts. "Sorry, I don't. Katniss." He turns to her. "I already know you're handy with a knife."

"Not really. But I can hunt." she says, shrugging. "With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" asks Haymitch. She's silent for a moment, contemplating this.

"I'm all right."

Okay. No. I take it back. _That's _the understatement of the century. She's not going to short her skills on my watch. Haymitch has to know what she's capable of.

"She's excellent," I correct. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer."

She looked completely surprised and I'm worried I've revealed that I've watched her too much.

"What are you doing?" she says suspiciously.

That didn't match what was going on in my head at all. I thought she was going to call me a stalker. Which I'm not. I just can't help but notice her, and everything she does. It's not like I go out of my way on her account. Aside from the bread.

Oh, and making sure she survives the Hunger Games. At the cost of my own life.

"What are _you_ doing?" I say back to her. "If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

She seems to get a little riled by this.

"What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," she snaps. "Tell him that. That's not nothing."

I'm surprised she noticed this about me, because I don't think she knew I existed before I tossed her that bread, and I thought she'd forgotten about me until my name was drawn in the reaping.

"Yes," I snap back, angry she's brought this up at all, as it's as useless a skill in the arena as cake decorating. "And I'm sure the arena will be filled with bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't."

Her lips purse, and she turns to Haymitch. "He can wrestle. He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

It's true, but it still doesn't help.

"What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?"

"There's always hand-to-hand combat," she says, her voice rising angrily. "All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!"

Maybe it's this last comment about her dying that really sets me off, or maybe it's because I don't see why she's getting so mad, or maybe it's because I don't understand why _I'm_ getting mad. Or maybe it's because I'm so scared about what's going to happen in that arena.

"But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows," I say angrily. Then I can't stop what comes next, because it's been gnawing at the back of my mind since it happened. "You know what my mother says to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!"

Katniss waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, she meant you."

She's so utterly wrong that I don't even stop to consider this.

"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' _She_ is."

Katniss freezes, her eyes wide in shock. My confession has brought up the pain of this that hadn't been considered while it was in the back of my brain. But now I realize how much it hurts, that my mother has so little faith in me. That she could care less about what happens to me. That she rates Katniss over me. The worst part is that I know it's all true.

Her shoulders slump, and her eyes dull.

"But only because someone helped me."

I know what she's thinking about, and I look down at the bread in her hand. That awful day I thought she might die. Then I look back up at her. I shrug off my feelings.

"People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."

"No more than you," she says. I'm don't believe this. She really has no idea. I turn to Haymitch, who's been watching us with raised eyebrows and a smirk. "She has no idea. The effect she can have."

I run my fingernail along the wood grain in the table for something to do with my hands. I can't look at her. If I do, I might do something stupid. Like kiss her. Or tell her I'm desperately in love with her. Or that I'm trying to keep her alive.

She's considering my words, and growing angrier by the second. I feel it even if I'm not looking at her. I don't know why me saying this would piss her off, but it seems every time I give any brand of a compliment it makes her mad.

Girls.

I'll never understand them.

"Well, then. Well, well, well," says Haymitch after an unbearable amount of time. "Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"

"I know a few basic snares," she mutters. Her voice is unreadable, but I still can't look at her.

"That may be significant in terms of food," he says. "And, Peeta," I look up, and he gives me a knowing look. "She's right. Never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"

I nod, and I'm sure Katniss does the same.

"One last thing," says Haymitch. "In public, I want you by each other's side every minute."

He's got to be joking.

Katniss and I both start objecting to this decision, which I really don't like for more reasons than one, but Haymitch is growing impatient and he slams his hand on the table.

"Every minute!" he says. "It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Katniss huffs in anger, and stalks back to her room. I follow her until I reach my room, and I wince as she slams her door shut.

The misty day has turned overcast. Good. It matches my mood. It's almost ten, so I sulk on my bed for a few minutes before I have to go meet Effie at the elevator. Katniss comes after me, and she's nervous again. She's biting her nails. She stops when she realizes what she's doing.

The training room is big and spacious. They're below ground, so there's no actual sunlight, and the harsh fluorescent lights make everyone look paler than they normally are. We're the last to arrive. The other tributes all have their district's number pinned on their backs. Someone pins a number 12 on my back while I look around, and notice Katniss are the only ones dressed alike. I wonder what Cinna and Portia are on about with the twins act. Surely this wasn't helping. Why do they want to put us together as a team? Is it because of what I told Haymitch? Did Haymitch tell everyone else? Surely he wouldn't be that stupid.

The head trainer, a woman named Atala, who's tall and athletic and a bit scary-looking, tell us the rules. Katniss is doing the same thing I am—checking out our completion now that we're on level footing. The Careers are tough-looking. The tiny twelve year old, Rue, I think her name is, looks scared and nervous and looks around the room like a scared bird. I promise myself I won't kill her. Unless she turns out to be a vicious killer or something and this is all an act. But I doubt it. The fear in her eyes is real.

The trainer finishes explaining the rules, and tells us to have at it. I look over at Katniss. She's clearly a long way off, and has zoned out on the District 2 tribute. I nudge her arm and she jumps.

"Where would you like to start?" I ask her.

She looks around.

"Suppose we tie some knots," she says. Might come in handy, so I agree and we go to the knot-tying station. We spend an hour mastering some snares until we've mastered it. Then we move to the camouflage station. I'm actually pretty good at this. The trainer marvels over how good I am. I'm a natural. Probably has something to do with years of decorating cakes.

"I do the cakes," I say to Katniss, wanting to make some conversation because the silence between us has become icy and I can't take it anymore. She's looking at the District 2 tribute again and looks nervous.

"The cakes?" she says distractedly. "What cakes?"

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery."

She blinks several times, then turns to me, examining the designs I've painted on my arm. She looks slightly annoyed.

"It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death."

This comment, far from annoying me, makes me grin.

"Don't be so superior," I say seriously. "You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake—"

She rolls her eyes.

"Say we move on."

The next three days I learn more about killing people than I've ever cared to, though the survival skills could come in handy. We learn to start fires and throw knifes, which Katniss is very good at, and how to make shelters. I'm actually quite good at the hand-to-hand combat. So maybe wrestling's not all that useless. All those years of wrestling with my brothers and the kids at school has come in handy. The Gamemaker's watch over the whole thing, or ignore us completely while they stuff their faces. One of them, I think his name's Plutarch, seems to pay more attention to us than the rest of them.

At lunch the Career's eat together. Katniss and I keep up the friendly thing, and though it's wearing us out because there's been a coldness between us since Katniss and I argued, a part of me enjoys spending time with her and laughing with her, even though I know it's all for show.

On the second day I notice the little girl, Rue, has been following us around again. She did this the day before, too. Something about this little girl gets to me. She's so sweet and innocent looking that it seems incredibly wrong for her to be in such a violent affair.

It just doesn't seem fair. The whole thing's not fair. The Games are not right. What kind of a creature kills its' own children? But I know it's all the Capitol's fault. Not humanity in general. The Capitol, who can put a stop to these sick Games anytime it pleases.

"I think we have a shadow," I whisper to Katniss as she's throwing a spear. She throws it, and hits it dead on, but she's watching Rue out of the corner of her eye, and I can tell she feels the same way about this little girl as I do. Katniss picks up another spear while I throw, and I don't hit it anywhere near as close to the mark as Katniss does. But I can't stop thinking about the little girl whose eyes are trained on us. I say softly, "I think her name's Rue."

Katniss bites her lip. Her voice is harsh when she answers.

"What can we do about it?"

"Nothing," I say, because it's true. We can't really do anything. Not that I would know what to do if we could. But just looking at Rue makes me want to scream in the Gamemaker's faces or give President Snow a good punch.

Haymitch and Effie grill us during dinner. Cinna and Portia aren't there to add any sanity. Katniss is clearly getting fed up with all this, but I'm a bit better at being patient. I know they're just trying to keep us alive. It's hard to hate them with this bit of information. But it doesn't mean I'm not sick of it.

"Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink," I say to Katniss. She snorts in laughter, but then her face falls.

"Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around."

I'm extremely disappointed, but manage to pass it off as tired.

"All right, Katniss," I say.

They start to call us out during lunch on the third day of training for our private sessions. I think District 12 really gets the short end of the stick, because we're always last. When we're finally the only ones left in the lunch room, we sit in silence. I want to say something, anything. But I can't seem to say anything.

My name is called.

"Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights," blurts out Katniss. I turn around, shocked she's spoken to me at all, but an unexpected warmth floods through me.

"Thanks," I say. "I will. You . . . shoot straight."

Katniss nods, looking at me with a bit of a strange expression I can't read.

The Gamemakers are singing some sort of drinking song and are not even bothering to pay attention to me. This ticks me off a bit, because they can't even focus when my life is on the line, and when Katniss gets in here they're not even going to bother paying attention to her. I hold the attention of one or two, but once I vent some frustration into tossing a couple of weights around, what little attention I've held is lost. I suppose there's not much that's more boring than watching someone toss weights around. One or two are watching me, though. One of them is the one that's been paying attention to District 12 . . . Plutarch. I throw some more heavy weights around until he says I can go.

"How'd it go?" says Portia when I get back to 12's floor. I shrug.

"I just threw some weights around. They weren't really paying attention to me. So I doubt I made much of an impression."

"Don't worry," says Effie in a sympathetic voice that doesn't really make me feel better. "I'm sure you'll get a decent score."

I don't really care enough to disagree with her, but I am wondering how Katniss's session is going, if she's impressing the Gamemakers. Surely she was. She was a crack shot with a bow and arrow.


	5. Chapter 5

8

The elevator comes zipping up, and we all look around anxiously for Katniss. She's there. She barely looks at us, tears on her face, before rushing to her room and slamming the door. The others are calling her name, while I'm standing stock-still in horror. What could possibly have gone so wrong as to make Katniss cry? I've yet to see her cry. I actually don't think I've ever seen her cry. Even when her father died, I've never seen a tear on her face.

Haymitch and Effie have gone to Katniss's door and are knocking, calling her name. But she shouts for them to go away. I exchange a look with Cinna. He looks worried, too.

"What do you think happened?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"I don't know," he answers.

"I've never seen her cry before," I admit. Cinna bites his lip nervously. "Not even when her father died."

"It must be bad, then."

Haymitch gives up, and stalks back into the sitting room. He pulls out his flask, scowling, collapses on one of the bright red couches, and takes a long drink from the flask.

"Stupid girl," he says angrily.

"Hey!" I say, before I can stop myself.

"Don't get all schoolboy heroic on me, boy," snarls Haymitch. "I won't help you at all if you say a word right now."

I snap my jaw shut angrily. His threat has successfully shut me up. Cinna and Portia look between us nervously.

Effie's a little more persistent than Haymitch, but just as unsuccessful. Eventually she gives up and comes back to the sitting room.

"Well," she says optimistically, "I'll try again at dinner."

It's hard not to admire Effie's determination.

I'm a bit sweaty from the day's training, so I take a shower. I spend the rest of the time before dinner on the roof, sitting in the garden and just thinking. Thinking about Katniss and the Games and what I could do to correct whatever Katniss has done in her private session. Because I'm still determined to protect her.

For some reason the roof seems like an escape from the Capitol and the Games, it's so peaceful. Maybe it's because I know this is the only place they can't overhear anything said. It can't be because of the loud wind and really, the flowers aren't that attractive.

Everyone but Katniss and Effie are there when I go to dinner. Whatever anxiety about Katniss's training has either disappeared or is well hidden. They're making small talk. I sit down at my usual spot. When Katniss arrives her eyes are very red. It gives me a very strange feeling.

She meets my eyes hesitantly, and I raise my eyebrows in a questioning expression. She shakes her head slightly. I guess I'll just have to wait for an explanation.

She's pretty quiet, sipping her soup, until she's directly addressed by Haymitch.

"Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?"

"I don't know that it mattered," I jump in to help her out a bit. "By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."

She looks a bit heartened by this. Just a bit.

"And you, sweetheart?" says Haymitch. A muscle in her face twitches at the nickname 'sweetheart.'

"I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers."

The entire table goes dead silent. So that explains everything. Why she was so upset. She probably thinks she doesn't stand a chance now. I'm worried the Gamemakers are now going to make her life hell in the arena and make my job ten times harder. I can't control that. If the Gamemakers want to kill her as soon as the bell gongs, then I can't stop it. I don't know what to do.

"You what?" says Effie in shock.

"I shot an arrow at them," says Katniss in a defeated-sounding voice. "Not exactly at them. In their direction. It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just . . . I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!" Her expression changes from one of defeat to one of defiance. I'm happy to see this. It means she hasn't given up on herself.

"And what did they say?" asks Cinna carefully.

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that."

Effie gasps in horror. "Without being dismissed?"

"I dismissed myself," says Katniss, and she looks hopeless again.

"Well, that's that," says Haymitch. I look up at him in dread. Surely he hasn't given up on her? I haven't! He definitely can't! But Haymitch isn't looking at me. He's buttering a piece of bread.

"Do you think they'll arrest me?" asks Katniss.

"Doubt it," answers Haymitch. "Be a pain to replace you at this stage."

"What about my family?" she says anxiously. "Will they punish them?"

"Don't think so," he says indifferently. "See, they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can't since it's secret, so it'd be a waste of effort."

It's beginning to dawn on me what Haymitch is doing.

He's trying to cheer her up.

"More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena," he finishes.

"Well," I say, shrugging, playing along, "they've already promised to do that anyway."

"Very true," says Haymitch. Maybe I've been underestimating him, because Katniss's features actually brighten a bit and she doesn't look hopeless anymore. I can't believe this strategy has worked.

Haymitch picks up a porkchop with his fingers and rips off a hunk of meat after dunking it in his wine. Effie looks utterly disgusted and this cheers me up, too. He starts laughing at Effie's upturned nose. "What were their faces like?" he says to Katniss.

She smiles slowly. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them. One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch."

The image in my mind makes me laugh along with everyone except Effie, but she's suppressing a smile.

"Well," says Effie, "it serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you come from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you." Then she looks around and looks mortified, like she's said something crazy. "I'm sorry," she says in a small voice. "But that's what I think."

"I'll get a very bad score," says Katniss.

"Scores only matter if they're very good," says Portia, "no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy."

Seems like a useful excuse for what will probably be a very low score for me.

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get. If that," I say, "Really, is there anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throwing it a few yards? One almost landed on my foot."

Katniss grins genuinely at me, and my stomach does a backflip. Katniss now seems a lot happier, and she actually starts eating with her usual appetite. I watch her out of the corner of my eye for some time. She looks incredibly relieved and I know her main worry has been about her family. It always is.

We go to the sitting room to watch the scores after dinner. The Careers pull in the eight-to-ten range as usual. Most everyone else averages a five. I'm shocked when Rue comes up with a 7. I change my mind. I won't underestimate her when we get into the arena. I'm even more surprised when her counterpart, Thresh, gets a ten. He's one I'll have to watch out for.

I get an eight. An eight! That's pretty good considering I didn't do anything that impressive.

Then Katniss's face flashes on the screen. And then a number eleven.

Eleven? Eleven!

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Effie Trinket squeals and everyone jumps up to congratulate Katniss and then me.

Katniss accepts the congratulations like she can't believe it's real.

"There must be a mistake," she says. "How . . . how could that happen?"

"Guess they liked your temper," says Haymitch. "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat."

Cinna steps up to congratulate her.

"Katniss," he says dreamily. "The girl who was on fire. Oh, wait till you see your interview dress."

"More flames?" asks Katniss. I sincerely hope not. Once was enough. But Cinna grins mischievously.

"Of a sort."

Then she's turning to me.

"Congratulations," I say with a smile. My heart beats a little faster as she returns it. "Eleven's pretty impressive. They'll have to take you serious now."

She lets out a breath of laughter while I think about what I've just said. An eleven is probably the most loaded number for her to get. On one hand, it means she's got a bigger chance of getting more sponsors. On the other, it means she'll be a prime target for the other tributes once we're in the arena.

And you can guarantee the Careers are going to be angry about this. She's showed them up. They're going to be gunning for her. How can I protect her from them? They've got us outnumbered six to two. The odds are not in our favor.

"Thanks," she says. A bit of an awkward wall lies between us. She shifts uncomfortably. "You did pretty good as well. As good as the Careers. Congratulations."

"Thanks," I say. Then Portia's congratulating her and the brief moment we've had is up.

I'm glad my room is so dark when the brief celebration's finally over. It helps me think. Calms my mind and my emotions.

Tomorrow's the day we're going to be coached for our interviews. The interviews. I hadn't really spent much time thinking about them. But now I had to think up a strategy, what I'm going to say. How this is going to affect how I play the games. What it will do for both Katniss and I's chance for survival once we're in the arena. What the other tributes will do. How rich the sponsors are. What the Gamemaker's plans are. What the audience will think.

Yes, I'm worried about the audience. They're a seemingly minor factor in my plans, but the Games are in a large part for their entertainment. If I don't put on a good enough show, then they'll get bored, and when the audience gets bored with the Games, that does not bode well for the tributes.

And then the perfect plan falls into place in my head. It's so simple, so brilliant, that I wonder why I haven't thought of it before. It's so loaded. I'm laying myself out there on the line, everything I have kept hidden for eleven years. It's not everything I am, but it's a huge part of who I am. And my thought is to tell the whole of Panem this on national television.

It's incredibly important I pull this off. The stakes are high. The consequences are life-or-death.

And my heart is on the line.

In a way, it's even more terrifying than entering an arena where twenty-three other kids want to kill you.

The first person I go to during breakfast is Haymitch. I tell him I want to be coached separately. He seems mildly surprised, but shrugs his shoulders and agrees without bothering to ask why. But Effie is a bit more curious. She's asking all sorts of questions that I could really care less about.

Thankfully I'm saved by the arrival of Katniss. All three of us fall silent. Her eyebrows come together in mild confusion as she looks between the three of us, but she's eyeing the stew of lamb and dried plums, and picks eating over asking questions. We're all quiet, not quite knowing what to say or how to break the news to Katniss, but I'm sure Haymitch will handle it. She's about halfway through her meal when she notices our silence. She takes a gulp of orange juice and looks around at the three of us.

"So, what's going on?" she says bluntly. "You're coaching us on our interviews today, tight?"

"That's right," says Harymitch. I knew he'd take care of it.

"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time."

Haymitch and Effie exchange a look.

"Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," he says.

"What's that?" says Katniss.

Haymitch shrugs like it's not that important.

"Peeta has asked to be coached separately."

9

Her mouth falls open in shock, her nostrils flare in anger. There's hurt in her eyes. For a minute I'm worried she's going to explode, but then her face smooths over, and she looks relieved.

If I hadn't felt the tension between us the past few days, I would have been confused by this reaction. But I think I know what she's thinking. What I'd be thinking if I were her.

From her perspective I'm plotting of ways to kill her. She thinks we're opponents. She's been irritated with having to pretend we're friends these past couple of days. I'd almost fooled myself into thinking we could be, but when Katniss said she didn't want to pretend in private, I'd given up that foolish false hope. She's relieved that we don't have to pretend anymore.

Well, good thing she doesn't know what my plan is. I can't even begin to imagine how she would react if she knew I was planning on taking the whole thing up a notch.

"Good," says Katniss, her face set in a grim determination. I try not to let this bother me. "So what's the schedule?"

"You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and four hours with me for content," says Haymitch. He glances at me, and I'm sure he's more curious than he's letting on about my decision. "You start with Effie, Katniss."

Good. That means I'm with Haymitch. The sooner I get this over with the better.

"So," says Haymitch first thing when we've settled into the comfortable chairs in my room. He's got a glass of whiskey and is already hammering it down. "Care to explain?"

I clear my throat nervously. Haymitch already knows how I feel about Katniss. He knows I'm not only risking but sacrificing everything for her. But telling Haymitch I love Katniss and telling Haymitch I plan to tell the world about it is something completely different.

"I've got an idea," I say.

"Oh yeah? Anything brighter than what you've already come up with?"

I bite my lip, but I'm too nervous to get angry with him.

"I want to tell them about how I feel about Katniss."

Haymitch's drink actually spurts from him nostrils. While I'm getting him a napkin, he's sitting stock-still, actually considering this. By the time he's cleaned himself up a bit, he looks convinced.

"I swear, Peeta, you give me anymore shocks like this and I might have a heart attack before I can get your sponsors to sign on the dotted line."

"But do you think it's a good idea?"

"Yes, actually," he says, grinning. "I think it's brilliant. Just what she needs. It'll give her one hell of an edge. Everyone will be lining up to sponsor her if you can convince them."

"You think I can?" I say, feeling hopeful.

"I said that wrong. You'll just be telling the truth. It's not a question of whether or not you can lie effectively, but whether you can tell them in a way which makes her utterly desirable and you the sweet boy in love with her, the girl who was on fire. But you're both going into an arena where only one comes out. It's so tragic. The star-crossed lover from Twelve. Doomed to die."

"But she's not going to die!" I say, my voice rising in pitch a bit from this statement.

"No, she's not," he says, smiling. "You are. You've got to die so she can live. The Capitol people eat that kind of stuff up. And they haven't had anything this good in years. They may not be too bright, but they'll be able to see where this is going the minute it comes out of your mouth."

"And this will help Katniss?"

"I'm positive it'll help her. Now, here's what we're going to do. . . ."

Four hours later it's time for lunch, and I'm exhausted from talking strategy with Haymitch. Once we covered how I was going to present myself in the interview, as the nice, funny, likeable guy; and what exactly I was to say based on what Ceaser Flickerman might say. And then we decided to talk about once I get in the arena. After I told him I was worried the Careers might target Katniss for her eleven, he was silent for a few moments.

"Here's an idea; make friends with them."

"_What?_" I said. He grinned, and offers a simple enough explanation.

"Keep your friends close. Your enemies closer."

My session with Effie isn't as heavy as the session with Haymitch. She's happy with the way I present myself in public, I stand straight, I sit right, I smile, I make jokes. She says I've got most of it down. She seems very relieved by it.

"You're easier than Katniss, anyway."

The next day is the interview. Portia's dressed me in a black suit with flame accents. I'm afraid the flames will look a bit tacky, but when I look in the mirror it doesn't look bad at all. In fact, I look like a completely different person. A very sharp-looking one at that. I don't know how she's made me look so good.

"You look absolutely striking, Peeta," says Portia, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

"You guys are good," I say. She smiles gratefully at me.

We go to the elevator to meet up with the rest of District 12. My breath catches when I see Katniss. She's absolutely stunning. She's dazzling. She's as radiant as the sun. Her dress is covered in precious gems that sparkle in the light and at the slightest movement she looks as if she's on fire. Her eyelashes match as they're tipped in jewels and flash in the light, her skin shimmers. She's incredible looking. Katniss, the girl on fire.

She looks at me and smiles in appreciation. I barely manage to pull myself together and it's only the help of Portia's nudge that's enough for me to smile back. I notice Katniss avoids Haymitch completely. Their session yesterday must not have gone very well.

_They're so much alike that they could never get along,_ I think. It's so true it makes me want to laugh.

The stage is set with twenty-four chairs in a semi-circle. The lights are incredibly bright and it's about ten degrees hotter on the stage. The other tributes are being sat in their places and we're last to go. I'm starting to feel nervous now.

I hope I don't screw this up.

I'm hiding it better than Katniss, though, who's breathing is shallow and she's shaking. She doesn't notice my encouraging smile. Haymitch now comes up behind us and growls in our ears; "Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it."

Katniss looks surprised. Did she not think we would keep up that appearance in public? There's not much time for me to think about it, because we're now being ushered onto the stage. I'm in the very last chair, about a yard from Katniss's. She looks very pale when she sits in her seat in a ladylike fashion I'm sure has everything to do with Effie's training.

Then Ceaser Flickerman's on the stage. He tells a few jokes and gets the crowd warmed up, then calls up the girl from District 1, who's name I learn is Glimmer, is dressed in a provocative see-through golden gown. She's doesn't look nearly as incredible as Katniss does, though.

I pay close attention to the Careers' interviews. I'm supposed to ally myself with them now, after all. The opportunity to even talk to them now is gone, so it'll have to be sometime in the arena. Hopefully, they'll think everything I say tonight is some sort of ploy to earn Katniss's trust, that I'll be successful, and that I'll lead them to her. And to make it interesting, I'll have to do all this while they're trying to kill me.

By the time little Rue's up I'm deep in thought, which has successfully distracted me from the nerves. But now it returns in full force. I go over everything Haymitch has told me in my head while I fight to look relaxed.

Rue's interview has pulled me out of my thoughts. She's so innocent looking with her gossamer gown and wings. She looks even younger than she already did. She looks almost fragile. When she says her strength in the arena is her difficulty to catch, I can't help but feel relieved. I don't want to catch her. I hope that someone else kills her. She's too sweet, too innocent, too young. It would be like murdering a child. But then I remember we're all children, and we're all going to have to kill each other. The injustice of the whole thing ticks me off.

Thresh is the one I'm really worried about. His ten in training is not something to be taken lightly. He seems sullen and keeps his answers short during the interview. He seems sullen during his interview and I can't gain anything more than this from his interview.

Then it's Katniss's turn. She stands in a detached sort of way, and walks to the center of the stage. She's got the deer-in-the headlights look.

The best thing I can say about the first half of her interview is that she's sweet enough. Any question asked she answers them looking at Cinna. When her interview dress is mentioned, she twirls, and she's just as dazzling as when I first saw her in the dress. The audience _ooh's_ over this and Ceaser calls for it again, earning cheers from the crowd. She's giggling. She must be more nervous than I thought.

Then they discuss her training score, and when Ceaser realizes he's not going to get much out of her on that front, changes the topic to the reaping and Prim. A hush falls over the audience, and her tone is more serious. I'm relieved when she says she loves Prim more than anything, because the sponsors won't see her now as just some silly girl. She's got some more depth to her now. Her change in tone is chilling when she swears she'll win for her sister.

And now they're calling Peeta Mellark, and my heart's beating out of my chest as I stand. I take a deep breath, and put a big grin on my face. Ceaser and I work well together, laughing and cracking jokes. He asks me about being the baker's son. I compare all the tributes to the breads from their districts. The camera zones in on their faces when I do this, and I make sure to compare the Careers to their breads in a positive way. The shallow tributes from 1 appear flattered. The boy from 2, Cato, looks interested and suspicious. The others don't even notice.

Then I use the material about the Capitol showers, and Ceaser and I have got the audience rolling when we start sniffing each other to see if I still smell like roses. And then Ceaser surprises me when he asks if I have a girlfriend.

The laughter dies in my throat. This is it. The moment's come.

I give an unconvincing shake of my head, and Ceaser asks again, just like I want and expect him to.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" he prods.

I sigh, keeping my eyes downcast. I play the embarrassed part perfectly.

"Well, there is this one girl," I say. "I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

The crowd aw's in sympathy. My heart's thumping out of my chest as the moment draws closer.

"She have another fellow?" asks Ceaser compassionately.

"I don't know," I say, shrugging. Then I think of Gale. "But a lot of boys like her."

"So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" he says encouragingly.

Oh Ceaser. How very wrong you are.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning . . . won't help in my case."

I'm finding it difficult to swallow. Ceaser looks completely baffled.

"Why ever not?" He says, mystified.

It's grown incredibly warm on the stage. For the first time in my memory, I'm having trouble getting my words out. But I've never announced what I'm about to in front of the whole of Panem before. In fact, I've never told anyone this except for Haymitch.

"Because…because…she came here with me."


	6. Part II: The Games

**Part II **

**"THE GAMES"  
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10

A hush has fallen over the audience, all of them in shocked silence. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if the entirety of Panem is completely, utterly silent. The only sound I hear is my heart thumping wildly. I'm dying to look over at Katniss, or at least at a screen, because I know that's where the cameras will be.

"Oh," says Ceaser, and his voice has an edge of pain. "That _is_ a piece of bad luck."

Bad luck. That's for sure. The odds are not in my favor.

The crowd's been affected strongly by my declaration of love. I hear agonized cries and murmuring assents. At last, I think it's safe to look up, and my eyes go to the screens. Half of them are on me, and half of them are on Katniss. She's looking down at the floor, her cheeks bright red, her lips pressed together. I have no idea what's going on in her head, but I'm sure Panem _thinks_ they know what's going on in her head.

"It's not good," I agree, inflecting my voice with an edge of sadness. The crowd '_ahh's'_ in despair. Dotted here and there handkerchiefs flash as they dab at their eyes, and I can't help but think these Capitol people are incredibly simple.

"Well," says Ceaser. "I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady."

I feel a flare of triumph. I've done it. Achieved what I meant to. Distorted their view of Katniss to desirable.

"She didn't know?" he says. I shake my head.

"Not until now."

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" asks Ceaser of the audience. They cheer their assent, but they're going to be unsatisfied. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

Of course they do. That's why you want one of us to kill the other. These people disgust me, but I don't let it show on my face as the crowd roars in agreement and I utter a "Thank you" quietly when they've settled down. Then I return to my seat, and catch sight of Katniss, who still has her head down. We all rise for the anthem, and every television screen is dominated by shots of me and Katniss as the few feet between us until it dies out.

We file back into the lobby of the Training Center, and Katniss has disappeared. Then I spot her in one of the clear elevators shooting upwards with four other tributes. I rush to my own elevator, and there's only me and the boy from six, and though the elevator's fast, it doesn't seem fast enough.

Finally it stops on the twelfth floor. I've just stepped out and barely catch a glimpse of sparkling, fiery jewels before hands slam into my chest hard enough to knock me over into an urn filled with flowers. It breaks into shards, and my hands lands right in the midst of them. Pain flares from them, and I feel like a child that's fallen into rocks on the playground. Blood is flowing freely from my palms.

"What was that for?" I say, aghast.

"You had no right!" shouts Katniss, her features distorted with anger. I'm at a loss to know why she's mad. Doesn't she understand what an edge I've given her? "No right to go saying those things about me!"

The elevators open, and then the whole crew's there, shocked at the scene before them until they gather their wits.

"What's going on?" says Effie, hysteric. "Did you fall?"

"After she shoved me," I say before I can stop myself. Effie and Cinna help me up and I stand shakily. Haymitch turns to Katniss.

"Shoved him?"

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" she says, the mere sight of Haymitch making her livid. "Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?"

Fool? What on earth is she talking about?

"It was my idea," I say, examining my hands and finding them filled with shards. I remove them painfully. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful," she says sarcastically, snarling at me. "To you!"

"You _are_ a fool," says Haymitch in disgust. I would reprimand him, but right now a part of me is agreeing with his words. Probably the parts connected to the ends of my arms that are throbbing in pain. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own!"

"He made me look weak!" she says. I nearly laugh. Katniss could never appear weak, no matter what I said.

"He made you look desirable!" says Haymitch. "And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!"

"But we're _not_ star-crossed lovers!" she shouts in protest.

Haymitch grabs her by the shoulders and pins her to the wall. I take a step forward, ready to rip him off her, angry he's manhandling her, but Effie grabs my arm, holding me back.

"Who cares?" he says, and she winces, turning her face away from him. "It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?"

Her nose scrunches up, and she shoves him off her, taking a few steps away. Cinna puts his arm around her.

"He's right, Katniss," says Cinna in a calming voice.

"I should have been told," she says. "So I didn't look stupid."

That isn't her problem. I know it's not. She's just worried about what her stupid Gale thinks.

"No, your reaction was perfect," says Portia, and suddenly I'm angry my stylist is taking her side. "If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real."

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I say spitefully, my voice gruff from trying to suppress my jealousy and hurt and the pain in my hands. I pick the last bit of porcelain out of my palm and toss it away irritably as her cheeks turn red. The blush hurts more than my palms.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she says.

Yeah, right.

"Whatever," I say. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it." It's hard to keep the emotion out of my voice. I manage it, but only just. Haymitch is looking at me, and I know he's caught it, but I'm not sure anyone else has. "Besides, _you_ didn't say you loved _me_." I feel my eyes sting at the words, but I blink a couple of times and they're gone. "So what does it matter?"

She's quiet, thinking. I can't wait to get out of there so I can nurse my wounds in private. My emotional wounds. I could care less right now about my palms. What was I expecting? For her to swoon and say she loved me, too? That was stupid of me. Of course she doesn't love me. What am I to her, anyway, besides someone she has to kill and the boy with the bread?

The boy with the bread. That's all I am to her. Just an idiot boy who might or might not have given her that bread on purpose. Who may or may not be in love with her. Who she's going to have to kill before this whole thing is over. It hurts so bad that I withdraw into myself, my face turning into a mask.

"After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" asks Katniss anxiously. They all gush after her, reassuring her she was golden. I didn't think it was possible for me to hurt worse than I already was, but her words, her treating this like it's all just a part of the game, not even considering my feelings, it hurts. It hurts more than I care to let on.

Then she looks at me.

"I'm sorry I shoved you," she says. It's not enough. I could care less about her shoving me. What I really want is an apology for her breaking my heart. But she doesn't even know she has, and it's going to stay that way.

"Doesn't matter," I manage to say, shrugging. "Although it's technically illegal."

"Are your hands okay?" she asks. My hands? They're the only part of me that's going to be okay.

"They'll be all right," I say.

My hands are bleeding so badly that Portia has to take me off for medical treatment. I'm grateful to get away from them all, particularly Katniss. The medical facility is in the middle of the building. They don't question my injuries, just wrap them in bandages. I'm grateful. I don't think I can answer questions right now. But I'm not so lucky when it's just me and Portia in the elevator.

"Are you okay?" she asks me quietly as I slump against the glass wall.

"Fine," I answer gruffly. Her face is sympathetic as she pats me on the arm.

"I'm sorry," she says. I nod my head in acknowledgement. I don't really want her pity. I want to be left alone. But there's still dinner and the recap to make it through. And then tomorrow we'll be in the arena.

Katniss looks at me guiltily when we get back, eyeing my hands. We don't speak to each other through dinner or the recap. By the end of it, I've stopped hurting and I just feel odd. Then it's time to say our goodbyes to Effie and Haymitch, because they won't be going with us. Effie is tearful, and I'm surprised to find I'm actually sad to say good-bye to her. She kisses us both on the cheek after her words of parting, which are typical Effie, hoping she'll get promoted to a decent district next year. I'm slightly amused by this. Then she leaves, overcome.

Haymitch crosses his arms and stands in front of us, looking us over.

"Any final words of advice?" I ask.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water," he says, his eyes lingering on my set face, and I'm sure he knows what I'm thinking and knows he can't prevent it, but is determined to try. "Got it?" he reinforces sternly.

"And after that?" asks Katniss.

"Stay alive," says Haymitch, but he doesn't laugh like the last time he said this. In fact, he looks grim. Has he actually…dare I say it…grown fond of us?

We nod. Katniss heads straight to her room, but Portia's giving me a look, and I stay to talk to her.

She's quiet for a moment, then looks up at me.

"You really love her?" she whispers.

Haymitch hears this and bursts out laughing. I glare at him.

"Yes," I say. "I do."

"I'm sure she feels the same," says Portia reassuringly. My heart leaps at the words, but I shake my head.

"No she doesn't. She thinks it was all an act. Besides, what does it matter how she feels? Both of us can't make it out. There's no chance of getting together . . . or living happily ever after . . . so what does it matter?"

Portia's silent. Haymitch and Cinna look at me, but the pity in their eyes only makes me frustrated. Cinna frowns, and I'm sure he's about to spout out some Cinna-logic at me.

"The arena changes people, Peeta," he says in his quiet voice. "Don't let it change you. Don't let them win."

Anyone eavesdropping would think he meant the other competitors, but by the tone in his voice I know better. He means the Capitol.

Cinna pats me on the shoulder, gives me a knowing look, and leaves. Portia imitates him, and follows him out. Then it's just me and Haymitch.

He approaches me, and jabs a finger in my chest.

"You _stay away_from the Cornucopia, boy. I mean it. I don't want you near that thing."

"How else am I supposed to hook up with the Careers?" I say defensively.

"I don't care how you do it, but it won't do you or Katniss any good if you get yourself killed five minutes after the gong sounds. _Stay away from the Cornucopia_."

My face becomes hard.

"You know I can't do that," I say quietly. "I won't get myself killed. Trust me."

"The Careers will kill you without hesitation, boy, and you know it."

"Not if they think I'll lead them to Katniss."

He backs off a bit at these words, considering me.

"You think that's what they think?" he says. I nod.

"I've been watching them . . . the boy from 2 . . . he's their leader. Cato, I think his name is. I watched him tonight. I judged his reactions from what I said about Katniss. He's at the very least considering me."

"And you're sure about that, are you, boy?"

"I'm not really sure about anything," I say quietly. "Except that I want to keep Katniss alive."

Haymitch frowns, and sighs, giving in.

"I guess I can't stop you. So I guess I'm going to have to give you some advice. Hang back, let the rest of the tributes go in first, and watch your back. The tributes who don't go in probably won't be gunning for you, because they'll be too focused on running, but you never know. When the Careers have finished killing off the other poor suckers, then you can go in and try and talk to them. But more than likely they'll be trying to slit your throat while you do it, so you better get it out fast, and you better make sure they believe you."

"Anything else?" I say.

"Yeah," says Haymitch. "When the number of tributes outside the Careers start to dwindle, you get yourself far away from them."

I nod.

"And look, if you don't think you can survive on your own . . ."

"What?" I say when he hesitates, thinking. He looks at me.

"If you can't survive on your own, then find Katniss and team up with her."

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say, slightly shocked Haymitch would even suggest this. "I don't want Katniss to kill me . . . at least not till . . ."

"It's just you two?" he finishes, and I nod. "I don't think she'll kill you."

I snort in disbelief.

"What, because I confessed my undying love for her in front of the whole of Panem?" I say, a note of ironic sarcasm in my voice. But Haymitch shakes his head.

"I don't think she'll kill you because she's not that type of person."

"_What_ type of person?"

"The kind to . . . kill their counterpart. I don't think she wants to kill you. She seems to . . ."

"What? She seems to what?"

"I don't know!" says Haymitch impatiently. "She seems to have this connection with you. Like she owes you for something."

"Because of the bread," I say softly, more to myself than Haymitch. She still honestly thinks she owes me for that? She never owed me anything. I had never expected anything back when I gave her that bread. Just for her to survive. Like she always does.

"Bread? What bread?" says Haymitch.

"It doesn't matter," I say, shaking my head. "Katniss is a survivor. If she has to kill me to survive, then she will."

Haymitch frowns, and opens his mouth again, but I stop him.

"Look, there's no point talking about it. I can survive on my own. I don't need her help."

Haymitch sighs.

"Alright, then, boy," he says resignedly. "You may as well try and get some sleep."

Then he turns, and starts to leave, but then he turns back, and gives me one last look.

"No tearful goodbyes?" I say, referring to Effie's goodbye. Haymitch smirks, but he does take a deep breath and looks like he wants to say something.

"Cinna's right. Don't let them change you. Don't forget who you are."

And then he turns and leaves without another word.

_Who am I?_ is the question that plagues me tonight. I know, after I pull on sleeping pants and climb into bed, that I'll never get to sleep tonight. I try, of course, for at least an hour or two. But Haymitch and Cinna's words echo over and over again in my head, and I desperately try to answer the question of who I am.

It's a moot point, because I'm not long for this world, anyway, but I want the same things they do. I don't want to turn into a monster. I don't want to change. I want to be me. But who am I?

I start with the simple things.

Peeta Mellark. The baker's son. In love with Katniss Everdeen.

And that's all I can come up with.

Is that it? Is that really all I am? Is it that simple? Or am _I_ just simple?

I crawl out of my bed, and walk towards the window, the carpet plush under my bare feet.

There's a right party out on the streets. Lights and floats and bands and oddly dressed Capitol people. It's as if in a dream I leave my room for the roof.

I lean on the rail, looking down on the streets, hearing the distant music and their laughter. How lovely these people are . . . throwing a party for twenty-four children being sent to the slaughter. It's sick. It's barbaric. But what can I do about it? Nothing.

Except be more than a piece in their games.

And save Katniss.

"You should be getting some sleep."

I start, but I don't need to turn around. I know it's Katniss.

"I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all," I say.

Katniss comes up beside me and leans on the rail. My side tingles at the closeness. She looks down at the street, squinting to make out the tiny figures.

"Are they in costumes?" she asks. I shrug.

"Who could tell? With all the crazy clothes they wear here," I answer. I look over at her. Small strands of hair, escaped from her braid, blow softly in the wind. She's achingly beautiful. How I wish things were different. How I wish I could tell her I love her. I should have, sooner. I should have years ago. Then we might not be here right now.

But that's stupid, of course we would still be here. Her sister's name still would have been drawn, she still would have volunteered, and I would still have gone with her. If I had told her, if we had actually even formed a relationship, this would be that much harder.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I say.

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says, still looking down on the street. She hasn't noticed me staring and for that I'm grateful. I want to memorize this moment, her face. Take a mental picture of her with me into the arena. A moment before we both become killers.

"Thinking about your family?" I ask.

"No," she says, looking slightly guilty. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course."

I look away from her, back down to the street. I can see her watching me out of the corner of my eye.

"I really am sorry about your hands," she says softly, her eyes lingering on them. I turn my bandaged hands over, not really caring.

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I say, picking at a stray thread in the bandage. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway."

It's true. Of course I haven't. Not if I want Katniss to win, there's no chance at all I'll go home. What was one more injury? Did it really matter? I was going to die anyway.

"That's no way to be thinking," she says. I let out a breath of ironic laughter.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is not to disgrace myself and . . ."

I hesitate. I want to tell her. I should tell her. It might give her an advantage, knowing she has someone on her side. But it won't help. It doesn't matter. She wouldn't believe me anyway. But I at least want to give her some kind of hint. And I don't feel like I can keep what I'm thinking to myself, anyway.

"And what?" prods Katniss. I look down at my hands, searching for the right words.

"I don't know how to say it exactly," I admit. "Only . . . I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I ask, desperately hoping maybe she'll get it. Maybe she'd understand, tell me I'm more than I think I am. More than they want me to be. But she only shakes her head, looking confused. I know I must not be explaining it right. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not."

Katniss bites her lip, her expression somewhere between guilty and confused.

"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" she asks.

"No," I say. Of course I'll kill. I'll have to kill to keep her alive. "When the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight." I exhale, struggling to explain, and to drop a hint in a way that doesn't seem completely obvious. "Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to . . . to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games."

"But you're not," she says. I frown. I know she's not getting it. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," I insist, peeking a look at her. She looks at me, her expression confused.

"Don't you see?" I say, desperate for her to understand.

_Don't you see that I love you?_ I want to shout at her. _Don't you see that _you're_ the one who's going to make me more than just a piece in their games? Don't you see that you already have? Don't you see that you're the only thing that matters anymore?_

"A little," she answers. "Only . . . no offense, but who cares, Peeta?"

I'm a bit stung by this. I look at her fiercely, her grey eyes are wide, confused, threatened. If I can't make her understand my intent, perhaps I can make her understand _me_ a bit better. But how can I do that? _I_ don't even know who I am. But I've got to try.

"I do." I say strongly. "I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?"

She takes a step back.

"Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."

HA! Staying alive. _Staying alive!_ I'm not staying alive anymore than the rest of the tributes are. I might as well already be dead.

I smile mockingly at her, though I don't think I've kept the sadness out of my face. I don't care to hide it, anyway. What does it matter? It doesn't, just like it didn't matter if I hid my tears back in Twelve or not.

"Okay," I say, a dull ache in my chest as I look at her. "Thanks for the tip, sweetheart."

She looks as if I've struck her, by using Haymitch's term for her. She bristles angrily. I stare at her in disbelief.

"Look," she says angrily, "if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve."

_You will_, I think. Lucky her.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I say, starting to get a bit angry myself, angry that she's wanting to argue now when all I want to do is . . . well, be with her. In the last few hours of my life, like she said. Katniss didn't even expect me to make it back. Just like my mother. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," she says nastily, then she turns on her heel and leaves the roof. I stare after her in shock.

And then it hits me.

I won't be coming back.

I knew that, of course, but it hadn't really hit home till now. It's like I've been stabbed in the chest at this realization. I look back over the rail, feeling the tears once again spring to my eyes. The streets blur and I bury my head in my bandaged hands, which soon become soaked with silent tears.

_I'm going to die._

And I really don't want to. I'm too young to die. I can't die. I don't want to die. I haven't done anything; I've never . . . I've never . . . what? What hadn't I done with my life? Kissed Katniss? Married her? Built a future with her? Had kids with her? Grown old with her? That's the only thing I've ever wanted to do. And the Capitol has ripped that future out from under me. Only now that it's gone do I realize how badly I wanted it.

"I don't want to die . . ." I moan softly, unable to stop myself. I look down at the streets, the dancing people. These bastards who are responsible. I want to get angry. I want to smash things. I want to throw heavy objects down at them and see how many I can hit. But that's impossible. The Capitol won't let that happen, either.

My life is forfeit. My life no longer belongs to me. It belongs to Katniss. I just have to remember that. That's the only thing I have left. It's the only thing I have left to give her. First the bread, now my life. Seems like an awful big gap between the two. But what choice do I have? My life belongs to Katniss. My life, my heart . . . my bread.

I don't see Katniss in the morning. I don't know how to feel about this. Portia escorts me onto the roof early in the morning. We go up in the hovercraft, and they place the tracker in my arm. Then they retrieve Portia, and get on our way. We're served breakfast, and, though I feel more nervous than hungry, I try to eat as much as possible. We're in the air for about half an hour before the windows black out, and I have nothing to look at besides my hands. Portia pats me on the arm and gives me reassuring looks.

Until at last, we land, and go into the Launch room. I clean myself up while Portia gets my clothes. We don't speak as she helps me dress and we wait. Me, because I'm so nervous and I feel like I have a frog stuck in my throat, and Portia probably because she doesn't know what to say. I pace, which is probably driving Portia up the wall.

"Peeta," says Portia after a while. I stop pacing and turn to her nervously.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice coming out abnormally high-pitched and croaky. "I'll stop."

"No, that's not it," she says, and gets up and comes to me. She places a hand on my shoulder. "I just wanted to say . . . well, that it really has been an honor to know you . . . and be your stylist. You're one of . . . well, you're a very good person. Keep it that way, okay?"

I nod. I barely spare a thought for her words now, my mind being so much on the more pressing issue of about to be put to the slaughter.

"I will," I say distractedly. Portia opens her mouth again, but is interrupted by the cool female voice telling us it's time.

I gulp. Portia leads me to the metal plate, which I step onto, my legs feeling like lead. That's not good. That had better go away before Gametime.

"Good luck, Peeta," says Portia sadly. And then the glass cylinder closes me off from her. She smiles reassuringly, though there's tears in her eyes. The plate begins to rise in darkness for a few seconds, and then I'm blinking in the bright sunlight and staring straight at the large golden Cornucopia surrounded by dark grass and twenty-three other tributes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," booms the voice of the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith. "Let the Seventy-Four Hunger Games begin!"


	7. Chapter 7

11

Sixty seconds. That's how long we have to wait. Step off the plate before that, and you'll be blown to pieces by the explosives buried in the dirt.

I said before I'm always aware of where she is when we're in the same vicinity, and now, it comes in more useful than ever before. Katniss is about five tributes to my left, and she's staring at the golden horn with longing in her eyes. She's practically drooling over the thing.

_Oh no, _I think, _oh no no no!_

I shake my head, praying she'll look at me, and maybe take the hint. She's not getting near that thing. Not if I can help it. And then she does look at me with five seconds to go, but the sun's in her eyes and she can't quite see me clearly. The gong rings, and she hesitates. I know I've distracted her enough for her to rethink whatever plan she had of diving in. She looks furious, but recovers quickly enough to grab a sheet of plastic, and then reach for an orange backpack at the same time the boy from 9 does. They struggle for a moment and I watch, terrified, then a knife appears in his back. I whip around, looking for the thrower.

The girl from Two, Clove, has the knives in her hand and a gleam in her eye, and I know exactly who her next target will be. I sprint to her, and slam into her at the exact instant she throws the next knife. And all I can do is pray it hasn't hit Katniss, because Clove is now on top of me, scrabbling for another knife, her hands around my throat. I struggle to breathe for a few moments and to get her hands off of me, her grip is tight, but I'm stronger than her, and I throw her off. I look over to find Katniss, and I see her disappear into the woods with the orange backpack.

I sigh in relief, but my distraction has been enough for Clove to get the upper hand. She slams on top of me, pinning me to the ground face-down. I struggle, but she's got both my arms pinned with her knee in the middle of my back and her hand gripping my hair, pulling my head up painfully, her nails digging in my scalp.

"Well, lover boy," she says nastily in my ear, pressing her knife to my throat. I wince, waiting to see the blood spurt from my neck. "Let's see how heroically you die, then, shall we?"

The blade presses itself into my skin, and I feel the sting of the cut and warm blood trickle down my neck.

"Clove, _no!"_ shouts a boy. "We need him alive!"

Clove growls irritably, but does not release me nor withdraw her knife, and for a moment I'm scared she's not going to listen to a word the boy says, but then she draws her knife back with a grunt.

"You lucked out this time, lover boy," she growls, slamming my face into the ground and releasing me, then thumping the knife into the ground between my fingers. I scrabble up quickly, grab the knife, slap my hand over my neck. I spring back, readying myself for a fight. Clove's already moved on and has killed two more tributes, leaving a pile of bodies in her wake.

I steady myself, and look around. There's blood all over the place. It's not an exaggeration that they call it the bloodbath. My boots are already a quarter of an inch deep in the stuff. The boy who shouted, Cato, is hacking away at the boy from 7 with a sword, who's putting up a pretty good fight, but is doomed to fail because a second later is beheaded. I turn my head away, feeling sickened at the sight.

Then I'm attacked. The boy from 8. His flashing white teeth are all I see for a moment as he tackles me. He tries to bring me down, but I've managed to hold steady and push him off. He backs away, snarling at me. I've got a knife, and so does he. He's about the same size as me. We're on level footing. But I bet he hasn't been chucking around hundred pound bags of flour his whole life.

We circle one another, each looking for an opening. He snarls, and jumps at me, stabbing his knife, I bring my arm up, and block him, but the knife has brushed my skin, and broken it. I gasp in pain, and the boy punches me in the face, knocking me back.

I get a running start and push him back, almost knocking him over. But he's as solid as a rock. I'm able to hold him there, hand gripped tightly around the hand holding his knife. One slice. Two. I've cut him in the back of the leg and the back before he can retaliate. He howls in pain, and pushes me off him. He snarls, and throws himself at me again.

We wrestle for a few minutes, each struggling desperately to get the upper hand and avoid the other's knife, until I slip on the blood on the ground, and he falls on top of me. I've got ahold of the hand his knife is in, and I try to knock it from him, but he's got a good grip on it. I knee him in the abdomen, and he wheezes, winded, and drops the knife. I take advantage and roll on top of him, slamming him into the ground. I bring the knife to his throat. His eyes go wide with terror, and I hesitate.

For a moment we stare at each other, neither knowing if I will actually kill him or not. It's like my hand has frozen. _Do it!_ I tell myself fiercely. _Kill him! He'd kill you!_ But still my hand will not draw the blade across his throat. _"I'm sure I'll kill like anyone else when the time comes. I can't go down without a fight."_ My words on the roof come back to me now, taunting me.

My hesitation is all he needs to turn this around on me, and wraps his leg around mine, twisting it painfully, and slams me back into the ground. I gasp in pain, surprised at how quickly the tables have turned, and he grins, knowing he's got me. I stare up at him in disbelief. His hands close around my throat . . .

And then an arrow whizzes through the back of his head and out his eye, and I'm splattered with blood. I stare in shock, then recover enough to throw him off me. I look up to see who's saved me. Glimmer, the girl from 1. She snarls at me, trying, I think, to smile, but she looks more angry than anything. She walks to the boy to retrieve her arrow and I get up, gripping my leg as a wave of pain hits my knee. It's twisted and is probably going to hurt for a while.

"Watch your ass," she growls. I nod in agreement. That's twice now I've had to have a Career save me. I've been careless. They must want me pretty bad. _Not me,_ I correct myself, _Katniss._

Glimmer turns away from me, and raises the bloody arrow. She lets it fly, and it hits the girl from 7 in the chest. She drops the dagger and pack she had been holding, and stares at us in shock before the life goes out of her eyes and she falls over, dead.

Glimmer and I back into each other, preparing to fight back-to-back. I'm surprised she wants to work with me, given Clove's earlier attitude. But I guess her desire to stay alive, or keep _me_ alive, is stronger than her disgust at a boy from 12.

"Here she comes," says Glimmer in a sing-song voice, and I hear the _twang!_ of her bow twice. I look over my shoulder to see the girl from 3 with arrows sticking out of her head and her chest before she falls to the ground. A shudder runs through me that has nothing to do with the death that surrounds me. I realize that these people really are cold-blooded killers. And Glimmer has reminded me of a twisted version of Katniss, what with the singing and the bow and arrows.

I turn back around and examine the area around the Cornucopia. The boys from 4 and 5 are fighting viciously. They're pretty evenly matched, though the Career is a lot less bloodthirsty than the boy from 5, and it's all the advantage 5 needs. He stabs the Career in the shoulder, blood spurting all over his face, laughing manically. The Career drops to the ground, dead as a doornail.

And then Five turns to me, his face wild, an insane look in his eye. I freeze, shocked and terrified. This boy no longer looks human. He sprints at me, his knife raised, howling wildly. Before he can even touch me I react out of instinct, and stab him in the throat.

He chokes, coughing blood in my face, staring at me with just as much shock as I stare at him. His face is burned into my memory forever. Wide blue eyes. Muddy brown hair. Pale skin, growing paler as the blood spills from him. He's human once again now that he's dying. The first person, the first living thing, I have ever killed in my life.

Slowly, he raises his hand to the knife in his neck, and realizes he's going to die. I'll never forget his expression. It will haunt me until my dying day. His hand grips at my jacket, his eyes pleading, terrified, blood pouring from his mouth and his neck. But there's nothing I can do that's not already done. And then he goes limp, and slides to the ground, dead. I stare in shock, not able to breathe. His blood is all over me. My face. My jacket. My hands. His blood is on my hands.

Glimmer turns around, and I realize she's been watching me.

"Welcome to the club," she says, grinning.

I can't look at her. I can't tear my eyes off the body at my feet. The blood pools around my boots, and I take a step away, horrified at what I've done.

Glimmer kneels down, and takes the knife from the dead boy's neck. She hands it to me. It's slippery and warm with blood.

"Breathe," she says firmly. I do as she commands, gasping for air, and some of the shock wears off. I'm able to look away from the boy to Glimmer, who looks amused. "You've never killed anything before, have you?" she says. I shake my head numbly. She laughs and pats me on the back. "First time for everything." And I wonder if she's ever killed anything before the last few minutes.

I look around, and notice that the bloodbath is over. Everyone's dead except the Careers, myself, and oddly the boy from 3. I wonder why they left him alive. He must have some kind of value to the Careers, like myself, or they would have killed him, but I can't think what that might be.

Cato and Marvel are picking over the bodies for anything useful, and Clove is pulling a knife out of the dead body of the boy from 6. The boy from 3 is sitting on the ground, panting, trying to catch his breath. The girl from four is kneeling besides her dead counterpart, her head down.

I wipe the blood off my face, though it does little good. My arm throbs in pain, and I look down to see the cut bleeding profusely. I grasp it tightly.

Glimmer's noticed.

"Marvel!" she shouts. The hulking boy turns around from where he is at the Cornucopia. "Toss me a first aid kit, will ya?"

Marvel scowls, and turns back to the pile, digs for a minute, then brings over a case. Glimmer opens it.

"Here," she says, taking out some bandages and turning to me. She takes my arm, rolls up my sleeve, and bandages the cut carefully. Now she really reminds me of Katniss and it's freaking me out a little bit. She's like if Katniss had an evil twin sister.

"Thanks," I say when she's finished. She grunts in acknowledgement, and goes to the pile. Marvel gives me a contemptuous look, and follows her.

Then the cannons go off. Eleven dead in all. One by my own hand.

"Let's clear out so they can clean this mess up," says Cato when the final bang goes off. He leads us away, to the lake, and we all turn back to watch the hovercrafts appear out of thin air. It will take them a while to pick up all the bodies…and pieces… so Cato turns away, disinterested, and scoops up some water from the lake, washing his face of blood and sweat.

I look back. The hovercraft's pulled up the lone head of the boy Cato killed. I feel sick to my stomach and barely keep myself from puking at the sight.

"Toughen up, buttercup," hisses Glimmer in my ear. "The wolves watch for weakness."

I swallow hard, and turn away from the Cornucopia. She's right. Clove is watching me, clearly frustrated. She's going to be a problem. She obviously wants me dead, and it's only Cato's insistence I stay alive keeping her from killing me. I keep my face hard, and kneel, wiping my blade clean in the grass, staining the green leaves red.

I look up to see Cato staring at me, frowning.

"Take a picture," I say irritably. "It'll last longer."

Instead of punching me, like I expect him to, he grins, though it does not reach his eyes.

"Sadly, I don't think they put any cameras in the Cornucopia . . . at least, any they're not using."

Cato watches me as I get up, stick the knife in my belt, and go to the lake. I watch them all for any signs of sudden movement out of the corner of my eye. Even if Cato wants me alive, there's no guarantee the rest of them won't stick a knife in my back. I remove the bandages from my hands and wash the blood off them in the water. They're already healed except for tiny, puckering scars. The Capitol has some pretty powerful medicine.

I turn back around to find all the Careers staring at me.

"You best mind your p's and q's, Lover Boy," says Cato, twirling his sword as he tosses it in the air. "I doubt I could stop any of my friends killing you right now. You've used your get out of jail free card. Give me one good reason I shouldn't slice you right here and now."

"Well—"

"Let me answer that for you," he says, and I barely have time to react. I draw my knife just in time and it collides with his sword with a loud metallic clang. My heart thumps wildly with the rush of adrenaline. He's swung the sword at my neck, almost beheading me. His teeth gleam as he leers at me. "And if _your_ answer doesn't match _mine_, then you're dead."

I tense, nervous. If it comes down to a fight, I'm at a serious disadvantage. Not only does Cato have a sword and I have only a knife, I'm outnumbered six to one. My only chance lies in answering his question exactly the way he wants. And I think I know what it is.

"Okay," I say. I keep my face hard, staring him down so he doesn't think he scares me. He pushes against my knife aggressively, snarling.

"_Your_ answer better be 'I'll lead you to that silly, spinning, airheaded girl from my district, or, I'll lead her to you.'" I open my mouth to answer, but he stops me, pushing against me again. His sword is so close now it brushes my scalp. "Remember, you're dead."

"I will," I lie smoothly. I know what I'm about to say might possibly blow the whole star-crossed lovers thing, but I'm sure I can make up for it later. If I live that long. I place my face closer to his, putting a convincing look of hate on my face, and snarl "I want the bitch dead more than you do."

I'm relieved when he looks satisfied. He slides his sword off my knife flashily, and swings it a couple of times in his hand, turning away me. I look around to see the Careers are smirking.

"Well, well, well," says Clove, who seems the most amused by my statement. "Mister high-and-mighty is just as human as the rest of us. What happen, she reject you?"

I don't answer. Clove bursts out in hysterical laughter.

"They're finished," says the boy from three, pointing towards the Cornucopia. We all look to it, and, sure enough, the air above it is clear. Three is the first to get up and go to it. We follow him.

I take up the rear, and, now that I know no one can see me but the cameras, and I know they're most likely on my face given what I said, I let my true feelings show on my face. I try to look relieved enough with just a touch of worry so the audience might believe I lied when I said I wanted Katniss dead.

"Alright," says Cato when we get to the Cornucopia and stand before the hoard of supplies. "If Three here," he points at Three with his sword, "can get the explosives reactivated like he said he could—"

"Reactivated?" I ask, somewhat shocked and confused. "Wait, what do you mean, reactivated? You can do that?"

Three looks amused, but doesn't answer. He kneels down near where I'm sure there was a plate that held a tribute, and Cato tosses him a small shovel from the pile. Three starts to dig, and dig . . . until he's about two or three inches into the ground. Then he sticks his hand into the upturned soil, and pulls out a shiny object about the size of a lemon.

Everyone's quiet as we watch him fiddle with it. After a few minutes, we hear a tiny _beep _and a light comes on. Three smiles in triumph and the Careers let out celebratory whoops, thumping Three on the back.

"Alright then!" says Cato loudly, pumping his fist in the air. "Here's what we're going to do. My boy from three here, and Glimmer, are going to dig up the rest of the bombs. The rest of us are going to move the supplies over to the lake, except for Clove. I want you to take the first watch."

Clove nods her assent and the rest of us follow suit.

"Good," says Cato. He gestures to the lake. "We're going to put them near the lake in one, big, organized pile surrounded by the explosives when Three's got them all reactivated. We've got to sort them first, though. We'll make four piles—one for food, one for medicine, one for supplies like containers and bags or miscellaneous items, and one for weapons. Got it?"

We all nod again. I wonder what the audience must make of this, especially the Capitol. They can't be too pleased with the fact that we've outsmarted them and managed to reactivate the explosives, but maybe the plan for keeping the supplies safe has enough entertainment potential for the Gamemakers to leave it alone.

"Good, then, let's get going."

Our work takes up most of the day. It's tedious and slow-going. Slowly but surely, piles of supplies start to form, and every time we return to the Cornucopia the mound of shiny bombs grows bigger. We stop twice to eat, and switch guards whenever someone needs a break. The sun moves across the sky, and I can't help but wonder where Katniss is. If she's alright. If she's safe. If she found water like Haymitch told us to. I know she's alive because I haven't heard a canon blast, and she's too much of a survivor to die on the first day.

When the sun's at the horizon, turning everything a brilliant orange, we've finally finished. We stand by to admire our handiwork.

Most of the supplies are in a pile, surrounded by the hidden explosives. Seven backpacks containing essentials like food and water have been set aside, one for each of us.

"Now what?" I ask, after the sun's disappeared behind the horizon.

"Now," says Cato, pulling out a pair of what I thought were sunglasses, but are apparently really night-vision glasses, and putting them on. "We go hunting."

'Hunting,' as it turns out, doesn't mean for food. It means for other tributes. We leave Three to keep watch over the supplies, and we start our search in the woods. The direction Katniss went. I want to tell them we should start somewhere else, but I know I'm not the only one who knows that's where she went.

"First," explains Glimmer to me in a low voice as we walk. "We'll have to weed out the idiots. The easy pickings. The young ones, the ones who scored low in training . . . the ones that are stupid enough to start fires tonight."

We've been walking for about an hour when we hear the anthem. We all stop despite the fact we already know who's dead, and look up to the sky. To the giant screen that displays first the seal of Panem and then the faces of the dead tributes. When the face of the boy I killed pops into the sky, I feel a jolt of powerful guilt that doesn't fade even when the screen goes dark and the stars show up again.

We keep walking, and walking, and walking. I'm incredibly tired. I didn't get much sleep last night. But I don't complain. Besides, there's no way I could sleep anyway. Not when they're hunting for tirbutes, and despite what Glimmer said I know they'll keep an eye out for Katniss and kill her if they get the chance. And then me, because I'll have run out my usefulness.

"Bingo," whispers Cato, and from the light of our flashlights and torches I can see his grin. I look up ahead, and there's a bright, dancing fire.

The Careers draw their weapons, and I follow suit, though the last thing I want to do is kill someone else. But what choice do I have? What if this person is Katniss? I doubt that. Katniss is too smart to be lighting a fire when the Careers are on the prowl. But does she know that?

I prepare myself to fight, not this person who lit a fire, but the Careers. Just in case.

The Careers break into a run when a shadow moves across the fire. I follow suit and bring up the rear again. The person who lit the fire's a girl, and she squeals when she hears us coming. Instead of running, she stupidly tries to put out the fire with her boot. I'm relieved when we get closer. It's clearly not Katniss. Or Rue, who I was also worried it might be. I'd hate to have to kill that little girl or watch her die.

At the last minute, the girl comes to her senses and tries to flee, screaming, but it's too late. Marvel speeds up, and catches her, throwing her down roughly. The Careers circle around her, but I hang back, hoping not to be noticed either by the girl or the Careers, who have quite clearly forgotten me at the prospect of fresh blood.

"Well, well, look what we have here," says Cato, leering down at the girl, grabbing her roughly by her jacket. She starts crying. I look away from the scene, feeling incredibly guilty.

"You're not _cold_, are you?" taunts Clove.

"P-Please—" the girl whimpers. "Please, d-don't hurt me!"

The Careers laugh, and Cato unsheathes his sword, waving it in the girl's face.

"P-Please!"

But her pleading is not going to do any good. Cato stabs her in the stomach, and she screams in agony. Cato drops her unceremoniously on the ground, and they start congratulating one another.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" says Marvel triumphantly.

"Let's see if she's got anything good," says Glimmer, checking the girl over, and scowling when she finds nothing. "Stupid little bitch," she grumbles, kicking the girl in the side. I thought she was dead, but she winces, and I know she thinks her only chance of survival at the moment is to play dead. She's smarter than I gave her credit for.

Luckily I'm the only one that noticed, the others are too busy congratulating themselves. I can't stop the thought that I hope the wound is fatal. But I can't bring myself to feel guilty about it, either. One less between Katniss and District Twelve.

We move on into a clearing. I look up into the trees, goosebumps rising on my flesh. I get the distinct feeling of being watched. I think we're not alone, but I refrain from speaking out in case it's who I'm afraid it is. Then Glimmer stops, bringing the rest of us to a halt.

"Shouldn't we have heard a canon by now?" she asks.

"I'd say yes," says Clove, glancing back at the fire. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead."

The beam of my flashlight flickers over a tree nearly ten yards away, and my heart nearly stops at the quick flash of what I've seen.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself."

There's the bundle of a black sleeping bag perched high in the tree, and . . . is that . . . Oh God . . . that's a long braid falling out of the side of it.

"Then where's the cannon?"

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

A whine of panic is filling my ears.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!"

The Careers start arguing. I have to do something, fast, before someone else does the same thing I just did, and they notice who I'm positive is Katniss hiding in that tree. Then I realize the only thing that is going to get them to move on, and the thought drops into my stomach like lead. But I have to do it. What choice do I have?

"We're wasting time!" I say, silencing the others. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"


	8. Chapter 8

12

I hear a rustle in the tree, but I don't dare glance at it in case they follow my gaze. They're all looking at me now. All of them smirking.

"Go on, then, Lover Boy," says Cato. "See for yourself."

I do what he says, but I watch them and the tree Katniss is in out of the corner of my eye, ready to run back in case they notice her.

The girl's nearly dead when I reach her. Cato did stick her, and stuck her good. There's no need for me to kill her. She's not long for it, anyway. I'm incredibly relieved by this, but when her eyes land on me, so full of fear, like the boy I killed earlier today, I feel frozen, and I can't turn back.

She reaches out a hand towards me that's covered in blood. I feel pity for this dying girl. I drop to my knees beside her, and take her hand. She's convulsing in pain. She tries to say something, but I can't understand anything she says.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to her, and she grips my hand tightly, her eyes locked on mine. "It's going to be okay," I lie. Tears stream down the girls terrified face. "It'll all be okay."

She takes one last gasping breath, and the life fades from her eyes. She goes limp, like she's going to sleep. But her eyes remain open. I gently remove my hand from hers, and place it over her chest. Then I close her eyes, and stand, swallowing hard and fighting to keep back tears. Tears of guilt and of anger.

I feel trapped in this arena. I really am nothing more than a piece in their Games. They wanted me to kill people, and that's what I did. And there's nothing I can do to fight it. The injustice of it all wells up inside me, the frustration I feel at not being able to do a damn thing about it.

_Katniss._

I look back, terrified because I've lapsed in my watch of her tree, but all is as it was when I left. I take several deep breaths, and walk back to them, keeping my face smooth and unemotional.

"Was she dead?" asks Cato as soon as I return.

"No. But she is now." I say roughly. The cannon fires. "Ready to move on?"

As we set off I glance back at the tree, and see that Katniss has fallen sideways, but has belted herself in so she doesn't fall out. I can't see her face, but I know now that she was awake. She most likely heard me. Heard me with the Careers. What she must think of me . . .

A boy from 12 joining up with the Careers is unheard of. It's despicable, because they're so much better off than the rest of us. She must hate my guts right now for doing such a thing. There's no way should could know for sure I'm doing it to keep her safe.

At the very least, I know she's alive, and surviving. That's the best I can hope for right now. Her feelings are irrelevant to keeping her alive, as they have been since I decided to start the whole star-crossed-lovers thing.

After combing through the woods for several more hours and finding no one, we head back to the lake to refill our water and rest for a couple hours. I wait until the rest of them are asleep, and by then I'm so tired I can't stay awake any longer, and I too fall asleep. But my knife is kept clutched tightly in my hand.

I'm shaken awake by Glimmer in the afternoon. We eat, and prepare ourselves to set out again. But instead of heading towards the woods, we direct our feet to the grassy field.

"Thresh went this way," says Marvel. "I saw him."

"Good," says Cato viciously. "We need to take him out."

Thresh. The boy from Eleven that got a ten in training. This is dangerous. Thresh is dangerous. Messing with him is not a good idea. But I can't complain, because we're heading in the opposite direction from Katniss, and that's a good thing. Besides, if we take Thresh out now, while we've got him outnumbered, it will be easier to take him down than if it's just him, Katniss, and I left in the arena.

The field is just that—a field. There's nothing but grass for miles around with a few bushes and trees dotted here and there. The Careers think that this will make it easy to find him or other tributes. But really it makes it easier for him to hide. He could be three feet away from us, crouching in the tall grass, and we'd never find him.

I'm the only one that seems to realize this though, so I keep my mouth shut. The farther and longer we stay away from the woods, the better I feel. If that means searching fruitlessly for hours for Thresh, then that's fine with me.

Which we do. We search for hours and hours, but find nothing other than more grass. The longer we go on, the more frustrated Cato gets. When Glimmer suggests we go back, he snaps at her angrily, but everyone else feels the same way she does, and reluctantly he agrees.

It's dark by the time we get back. We remove our packs and the anthem begins. The only person to have died today is the girl from eight.

We eat, and sleep through the night. I once again sleep with my knife. I trust these people less and less the more time I spend with them. I'm glad I do, because I wake up several times to see Clove watching me, her hand around her knife, a snarl on her face. She has enough self-restraint left not to attack me yet. Yet.

"Today is the day," says Cato when we've all woken up and are eating breakfast. He looks at me. "Today is the day you prove your usefulness. We're going to find that little bitch from your district. I know it. And you're going to help us."

I gulp, not entirely surprised, but nonetheless nervous. I try to look happy about this, but I'm not entirely sure I've been successful. Clove watches me suspiciously, drawing the dull edge of her knife against her lips.

"Tell us something," asks Cato. "How'd she get an eleven in training?"

I shrug. Though I know exactly how Katniss got an eleven, there's no way I'm going to tell them that. They could most definitely use that knowledge against her. So I feign ignorance.

"I have no idea. Wish I did."

They don't look convinced, so I take it up a notch.

"She wouldn't tell anyone what happened with the Gamemakers. Well, I'm sure she told Haymitch, but she wouldn't tell me."

"Guess she's smarter than she looks, got a bit of foresight even . . . given the fact you want her dead now," says Clove. Her tone is that which is that she means the exact opposite of what she said. She doesn't look at all convinced. In fact, she looks hostile. I grip my knife tighter. "I don't think she believed you. Funny, you sure fooled me."

She glares at me, challenging me, daring me to show on my face what I'm really thinking. Daring me to attack her. I do neither. I keep my face hard, angry even. I try to act like a Career would. We stare each other down. The rest of the Careers and Three watch the interaction warily. I'm positive the cameras are on the two of us, and the Gamemakers are holding their breath, waiting and hoping for the fight to break out. A muscle twitches in her cheek.

"Leave him alone, Clove," says Glimmer irritably, getting up and grabbing her bow, turning her back on us. Clove is shocked enough to break eye contact with me and look at Glimmer incredulously. She whips around, looks at Clove, and rolls her eyes. "I'm not taking his side, all I'm saying is we have more important things to do. Let's get moving, we've wasted enough time as it is."

Clove's eyes don't leave me, though, as we shoulder our packs and head out as before. I keep my hand close to my knife.

The Careers have brought an arsenal of weapons on the hunt today. Probably because they have no idea what to expect. Which is why they wanted to know what Katniss did in training, so they know what they're up against. It's definitely a good thing I didn't tell them.

We've walked for several miles downhill, and we're to the clearing where Cato killed the girl from 8. In fact, we're right below the tree Katniss hid in that night. She's not there now and I really hope she hasn't made this her permanent residence. Cato kneels and examines the ground.

"Someone was here. Someone climbed this tree, and jumped down from it. They went off in that direction," he points further downhill, away from the Cornucopia and the lake. "Not two days ago, I think."

"But that was the same time we were here, wasn't it?" says Glimmer. Cato nods.

"Dammit, we missed someone!" says Marvel. "They were hiding, right under our noses!"

The girl from District Four whips around, brandishing her spear as though hoping they'll appear between the trees.

"It's no use. They're long gone from here," says Cato to her. I feel relief, but it's short-lived. He points again. "The tracks go off in that direction. Let's follow them, and see where they lead us. Hopefully right to an unwitting victim."

The Careers laugh, and the sound sends chills up my spine. Fear blossoms in my chest. I know already who was in that tree, and who they'll find at the end of the tracks. How could I possibly stop them from going any further without flat-out sounding like I'm trying to lead them away from Katniss?

I follow the Careers downhill, trying and failing to think up ways to lead them astray, for several hours. Until we halt, and Cato stoops once again.

"Whoever it was, they weren't well off," he says.

"What do you mean?" I say, a little too quickly. Clove glances at me. I try not to look worried, which, of course, I am.

"Well, for starters, they've started using a walking stick," answers Cato. He gets up, and starts following along the footsteps. "And walking pretty heavily."

We follow him for several more miles, though he doesn't say anything, and keeps his eyes glued to the ground. When darkness falls, he puts on his glasses, and continues walking, hunched over.

"They've started to stumble quite a bit. I wonder what was wrong with them?"

"Hopefully," says Glimmer. "Something that makes them easier to kill."

This earns her a snort of laughter from Marvel. Though I don't think I've found anything less funny. What was wrong with Katniss? Where is she? Is she alright? Is she hurt, wounded? Surely she isn't starving, which is the only other thing I can think of that might make someone stumble as Cato is suggesting happened. She is more than capable of feeding herself.

But perhaps there was something else wrong, something related . . . something that would make her so weak she would need a walking stick to assist her. . .

"Water!" I gasp out, before I can stop myself. The Careers look around at me.

"What?" says Marvel. My eyes widen as I realize what I've done. I try to look innocent.

"Did you just say _water?_" says the girl from 4.

"Oh, ah, yeah. I'm a bit thirsty," I backtrack quickly. They all seem convinced, but Clove, as usual, looks slightly suspicious, though I don't see how what I've said could make her so.

"Oh," says Glimmer. She digs out her water bottle. "What, are you empty? Here, take some of mine."

I don't have any other choice but to accept and look grateful.

"Thanks," I say, taking a sip and giving it back. Cato turns away from me, and we continue to follow the footprints for several hours, until we're too tired to go on. We stop, eat, and sleep.

It's near dawn when my eyes snap open in alarm. I can't quite figure out what's startled me from sleep. There's no one attacking me. There's no loud noises. Then I take a deep breath. My nose tingles unpleasantly and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I know that smell. I've smelt it before. Of course I have, I've been lit by the stuff, and I've lived with it nearly my whole life. I know the smell of fire.

It smells somewhat like home, like the fire we would light every morning so we could bake the bread that day. Only this is much more potent, and smells more like smoke than it does baking bread. It's a different type of wood burning. And it's so strong that a few breaths of it are enough to make me cough.

The sound wakes up Clove. She looks around in alarm, and spots me. There's barely a second that I get the feeling that she's still half asleep, and not thinking clearly. I see the murder in her eyes. We both reach for our knives, but then she stops, noticing the same thing I have, which effectively wakes her up.

"Do you smell that?" she says, sniffing the air and gagging slightly. "What is that?"

"Fire," I answer.

She looks back at me, a touch of fear in her eyes. Then, slowly, we both look behind us.

It's not a small campfire, though I knew that when I smelt it. But what I see still surprises both Clove and myself. She lets out a small shriek, and quickly rouses the others.

They grumble and groan, irritated they've been dragged from sleep.

But they fall silent in horror when we point to the wall of fire heading straight towards us.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: So . . . hello everyone! Another chapter down! And I'm so happy with the number of hits this story is getting! Though I always wish for more reviews ;) lol. So, please review, and tell me what you think so far!<em>

_Oh, and, yeah, I know, it's a bit late for me to start doing author's note, but I'm starting to think I should give you guys a bit of info. First off, I do plan to do the entire series in Peeta's POV. Second, that's a lot of friggin writing, but I love writing, so it's cool. Third, this story is the perfect level of being lazy for me, because I don't have to think about plot, just the characters and writing, and it's a wonderful break. I'm writing two big stories right now, one is a novel-length Harry Potter fanfic (which I plan to post to fanfiction. net ASAP, but if you're really curious and don't want to wait on my procrastination, you can head over to Harry Potter Fan Fiction dot com and check it out. I'm under the same penname, grednforgesgirl. :) ) , and the other is an original story, both of which have fairly complicated plots. My point is, it's nice not to have to think about plot and just write. _

_But that's irrelevant anyway. So, thank you for reading this story so far, and, yes, I plan on writing more, and I really, really hope you'll review! Thanks!~gfg_


	9. Chapter 9

13

Cato shouts at us to pack our things, and we do so, quickly. We're up and moving faster than I thought possible.

"Run!" screams Cato. "Run to the lake!"

The fire is gaining on us, fast. We run, but we're not fast enough. Soon the animals of the forest are passing us, leaving us far behind. I can feel the heat of the fire on my back. I'm sweating like a pig. I cough violently from the smoke inhalation. My throat soon feels like it's on fire, then my lungs, and I can't stop coughing. I hear the others coughing and retching and Cato shouting at us to keep running.

But after several miles of running and the fire bearing down on us it's clear we're never going to make it to the lake. Cato yells at us to start running sideways, parallel to the spreading fire. His logic is that the wall of man-made flames has to end eventually. A lifetime of watching the Hunger Games tells me that this logic is not flawed.

It does have to have a limit, a specific zone it can't cross over and most likely it will lead us straight into another trap or into another tribute. For Katniss's sake I hope it's the former. Because I know who the nearest tribute to us is, and who is most likely running through the fire too. This has to be exactly the Gamemaker's intentions, to force us to confront each other. But I can't worry about her too much right now except to pray that she's safe. I have to worry about getting myself out of this alive.

It is another trap that we fall into. I know it as soon as I hear the hiss and the girl from District Four's shriek as she is hit with a fireball. She keeps her wits enough to pat herself out, but it's panicked the rest of us. We keep running, aside from every time we hear a hiss and we hit the ground.

We have to keep moving. I know this, but the exertion has been almost too much. I'm running on pure adrenaline now, motivated by fear of actually being set on fire for real. I felt a hint of that dread at the opening ceremonies, but that pleasant, beautiful fake fire has nothing on this real, terrifying fire that could consume me at any moment.

It's not the burns I'm afraid of, I've had them plenty of times before. It's an occupational hazard of being a baker. No, what I'm afraid of it being completely engulfed in them, and dying horribly. And then who would protect Katniss from the other tributes? There'd be no one, and, as much of a survivor as she is, I don't think she can win this on her own.

I hear the hiss and react on instinct, but the fireball still singes my hair and burns the back of my neck. I gasp in pain, get up and run faster, following my shouting and retching and coughing fellows.

"Keep running!" screams Cato harshly, gesturing us on.

Eventually, finally, the hisses and fireballs stop, and the flames are disappearing, fading into the distance and growing weaker. We don't stop running till we're a good mile away, and then we collapse, panting, coughing, heaving; about half of us losing whatever food is in our stomachs. I'm barely able to keep mine down because of my gagging.

My lungs feel like they're on fire. I touch the back of my neck where I was burned. It's blistering and hot to the touch and very painful. The fire has singed about two inches of hair off the back of my head.

It's a while before any of us find the strength to move other than to take sips of water. The first to speak is Clove, and it's to point an accusing finger at me.

"You," she says angrily, though she still short of breath and starts coughing in between words. "That was . . . all you!"

"What are you talking about?" I defend. Clove looks wild, utterly wild just like the boy from 5 that I killed. Her hair is half-burned on one side and she has ashes and soot all over her face. My hand automatically closes around my knife.

"You! You and the stupid girl on fire!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" I say angrily. But Clove is not so easily put off. She jumps at me, and Marvel and Glimmer get up and hold her back. She fights against them madly, her eyes wild.

"I bet you think it's funny, do you? Well, I'm not laughing. You and your girl on fire and your goddamn stylists nearly got us roasted!"

"You're insane!" I say furiously. I let out an ironic laugh for good measure, and she fights harder against Glimmer and Marvel, looking utterly mad.

"Insane, am I? Oh yeah? Well I don't trust you, Lover Boy! I don't trust you one bit!"

"And I don't trust you," I retort. "I guess that makes us even!"

"Oh no it doesn't," she snarls. "Not by a long shot. The only thing that will make us even is _her_ death."

Maybe it's the way she says it. Maybe it's the fact that I know now she knows. Maybe it's the threat itself. But at her words my carefully constructed expression falters, and the fear I feel at her words shows through for less than a second before I'm able to recover enough to put my mask back on.

But it's too late. She's noticed, and flashes a triumphant grin. She's done it. She's planted the seed of doubt in the other Careers, and there's nothing now I can say or do short of bringing them straight to Katniss to earn back their trust. They're looking at me now with doubt, probably wondering the same thing all of Panem is wondering. But I know I won't, and Haymitch knows I won't. At least, I hope he knows I won't, because if this goes bad, I'm going to need my sponsors.

"You're a loon," I say dismissively. She doesn't bother to respond. She doesn't need to. She's already accomplished what I'm sure she'd set out to do the moment I joined up with them.

"Well," says Cato after a charged silence. "There's only one thing we can do."

I tense, and draw my knife, but Cato shows no signs of hostility. He looks at me. Judging me, I'm sure. I have no idea what is on his mind or what he is going to say, even if he will attack me because I'm worse than worthless to them right now if Clove is to be believed.

"You've got a chance to earn back our trust, Lover Boy. Lucky you, you get another get out of jail free card," he smirks, and I can tell he's about to drop a bomb. "I saw her," he says, and my heart nearly stops at the words, but the fact that my very life is dependent on keeping my face smooth prevents me from showing any kind of expression. "Running from the fire, just like us. I would have killed her then and there if it hadn't been for the fire."

"You _saw_ her?" says Clove, her face growing red from anger. "If you know where she is, having _him_ around is useless! Let's just kill him now!"

I ready my knife and take a step back, fully prepared to fight them all to the death if I had to. I don't think I would have the slightest problem killing these people, who are more like vicious wolves than human. And they have to die so Katniss can live.

"Not yet," says Cato, slightly tauntingly. "Let's let him live. He may have some use yet."

"But he'll warn her! He'll protect her! That's been his goal all along!"

"That's not true! I want her dead!" I say, but it's too little, too late. I know I haven't convinced them by the look in Cato's eyes. He moves closer to me, and I take a step back. I want to keep his hands in view. It's not that hard, considering he's just grabbed me by the front of my jacket and pulled me close to whisper icily in my ear so no one else can hear. But I'm positive every citizen of Panem is hanging on to every word said.

"You can't save her, Lover Boy," He hisses dangerously. I gulp, every muscle in my body tense, preparing for the death blow that's sure to come. But it's much, much worse. "It's hopeless. You know we'll kill her. If it's not us, it will be someone else. You know she has no chance. But you do. She's not worth your life, is she?"

_Yes, yes she is, _I think, but I have enough sense left to know this is my only shot at keeping the fragile thread of trust. I utter out a quiet "no."

"There, good boy," he says. "I knew you'd rather go back to District Twelve than to die for her here. You're on our side, right? Yes, I know you are, because you've some sense of self-preservation. You want to survive."

No, I don't, I really don't. All I care about is keeping Katniss alive, my own life means nothing. If he was smarter or more observant, like Clove, he'd know that quite well. But as it is, he seems stupid enough to want to keep me alive for whatever reason, and believe my lies. As long as I keep feeding them to him. I nod slowly.

"Someone's got to win this thing, Peeta Mellark," says Cato. I'm a bit shocked he even knows my last name. Or my first name, really, given the fact they all call me 'Lover Boy.' "Someone's got to win. It could be you, or me. Think about it, the glory of winning the Games, being a Victor, having more than your pick of women. You don't need her."

"You're right," I breathe.

"We can work together, you and I. Until it's just us two. Then we can deck it out, and may the best man win. But that means we have to kill her, and the rest of them. Work with me."

My eyes close of their own accord, my heart thumping horribly.

"Okay," I manage to gasp out. He pulls away from my ear, a manic gleam in his eye, looking satisfied. He may just be crazy and stupid enough to believe me.

He pushes me away from him, and I breathe a sigh of relief as soon as his back is turned. Clove looks furious.

"Let's go get the bitch," says Cato viciously.

"Cato," says Glimmer. I notice she's got a bad burn on her arm. "Give us at least an hour to rest up and heal ourselves. Please."

Cato looks at her angrily, gnashing his teeth.

"She'll get away."

"She's just as bad as we are," says Glimmer pleadingly. "She's not going anywhere. _Please_ Cato! I can't fight in this shape."

It takes a little more begging, but eventually Cato gives in.

Healing us all, refilling our emptied bellies, rehydrating and recovering enough to be able to move on takes over an hour and a half. At last we're ready to move on.

"Let's get going!" says Cato impatiently. "We've wasted enough time!"

_This is it,_ I think as we walk quickly where Cato leads us. The time's coming quickly. If they try to fight or kill Katniss, I'll have no choice but to fight them. There is no talking my way out of this one, no diverting them from their task. What little trust they had in me has dissipated except for Cato, who I think now trusts me more than the rest of the Careers. There's no choice except to fight. I will not let them kill Katniss.

She's all I think of as we walk to our destination—to her. I remember what little happy memories of her to soothe my nerves. The day I first heard her sing. The bread. The next day, knowing she was alive, making eye contact across the schoolyard, and her, for whatever reason, looking down at a dandelion and looking hopeful.

I have to save her. Not only because I could never rest nor live with myself if I let her die, but also because she is a true diamond in the rough. The world should not be deprived of a creature as beautiful and incredible and amazing as Katniss. She can make a difference. I can't let her die. I can't let them kill her. I know I will die for it, but it's worth it. She's worth it.

It's almost evening when we find her. She's asleep in a pond. She wakes and runs, splashing across the pool. Cato yells at us to spread out, and we close in on her, like a pack of wolves. Thank God, she scurries up a tree like a squirrel, going higher than any of us could climb. But Glimmer has the bow and arrows, the weapon that was no doubt meant for Katniss. And Clove has the knives, and I have no doubt she can throw them with accuracy, but hopefully she won't risk throwing them up in the air where they might come back down.

She's twenty feet in the air by the time we get to the base of her tree. We stop and survey each other for a moment. I look up at her for a moment, because I want to see how she looks, if she's injured or hungry. She doesn't look like she's going hungry nor dying of thirst like I think she was a couple of days ago. But she is injured. Her calf and hands are covered in very bad burns that look painful, and I'm wondering how on earth she can climb that tree.

_Because she's a survivor,_ I think.

I look back down and watch the Careers, ready to jump if they make a move. They seem frustrated, which I take as good news. I look up at her when she speaks.

"How is everything with you?" calls down Katniss cheerfully. Her boldness makes me smirk.

It's taken them aback a bit. I suppose they probably expected her to cry and plead like that girl from 8. They do not know Katniss Everdeen very well.

"Well enough," says Cato pleasantly, though I see the danger in his eyes. I take out my knife quietly, watching the Careers closely. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," says Katniss. I really wish she would stop goading them, however funny she thinks she's being, it's incredibly dangerous. At a time like this I could really care less what the audience thinks. I don't care about putting on a good show, like she clearly is right now. The audience must be getting a real kick out of this. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

_Dammit, Katniss!_ I want to scream, but I don't.

"Think I will," says Cato through clenched teeth.

"Here, take this, Cato," says Glimmer, handing him her bow and arrows. I know Katniss must be furious, seeing the bow and arrows, _her_ bow and arrows, in a Career's hands. She must blame me. How could she not blame me? I stopped her from going in and getting them. But I probably saved her life, and I'll never regret that. Never.

I avoid her eyes, and polish my knife for something to do with my hands. Honestly, I need to move my hands, to stop myself from stabbing Cato right then and there. And something tells me that would not be a good idea.

"No," he says, pushing away the proffered weapons. "I'll do better with my sword."

I'm trusting to Katniss's ability to climb that tree, and her lighter weight. She waits until Cato has hoisted himself in the tree and then starts climbing even higher, higher than I hope Cato can go.

Cato gets about twelve feet in the air while Katniss is now around thirty before he places his weight on a weak branch, and it cracks and he falls. I jump out of the way just in time. I can't help hoping he's broken his neck and I won't have to deal with him, but he's already got up, spewing out curse words my mother would surely hit me for.

"Glimmer, you're the lightest, you try," says Clove. Glimmer is most definitely the lightest of us, but Katniss is definitely at least fifty pounds lighter than her. And I doubt Glimmer is as experienced with climbing as Katniss is.

Glimmer scowls, and starts to climb the tree . Katniss continues climbing until she's at least eighty feet high. Glimmer gets about forty before the branches start cracking and she stops. She pulls out her bow and nocks an arrow, and I gasp. I temporarily forgot about her arrows.

_Stupid, stupid!_ I think. All I can do is hope she misses, or that Katniss has room and a good enough hold on the tree to duck. I've made a serious mistake, forgetting about something like that.

Glimmer shoots, and misses. It hits a tree near Katniss and she's able to lean over and pluck it out. She waves it tauntingly.

I can practically hear Glimmer stewing in anger. Thankfully, she starts to climb down carefully, dropping the last few feet to the ground. Katniss looks as relieved as I feel from what little I can see of her face.

"Let's just kill him!" whispers Clove furiously as soon as they've regrouped. "That might get her to come down. Especially if we threaten him." I've not been paying attention, but now I go over to them, effectively reminding them that I _can_ hear them.

"No," says Cato firmly, exchanging a look with me. "He stays alive. At least for now."

"That little goddamn bitch," steams Glimmer furiously. "Mocking us like that, who does she think she is?"

"We could shot at her until she comes down," suggests Marvel.

"You know that will never work, she'll just climb out of our reach and we'll lose our weapons," says Cato.

"We could keep trying to climb up to her."

"Please. You know none of us are going to make it up there."

"We could smoke her out," suggests Four.

"I've had enough of fire for a lifetime," says Marvel.

"Well, if you've got a better idea, I'd really like to hear it."

"No fire," says Clove. "No way. I agree with Marvel."

"But it's a—"

"Oh, let her stay up there!" I say impatiently. They all look at me. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

Reluctantly, they agree that I have a point.

"Fine," says Cato. "But we're camping right here, and here's where we'll stay till she comes down. She has to eat eventually."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," I say, and it's hard to keep the irritation out of my voice.

We roll out our sleeping bags in silence, eat a little bit, and drink enough to recover somewhat from the fire. Then, we wait for the nightly death toll.


	10. Chapter 10

14

The anthem begins. Only the seal of Panem is shown. No deaths tonight. But there has been plenty of action, all at the Gamemaker's design, so I hope they'll leave us alone.

I resign myself to stay awake tonight. There's no way I'm getting any sleep with Katniss so near and in so much danger, anyway. Besides, I have to think of way to get out of this mess. Lead them away from Katniss. Cato's right, she does have to eat eventually.

Then I remember what I said before the Games, about her staying up in trees and eating raw squirrels. Maybe she _can_ stay up there forever. I hope so. Maybe the Careers will get bored and realize they're wasting time sitting here when they could be off killing other tributes

Glimmer takes watch, and judging by the reduced amount of snores her and I are not the only ones awake. Clove, too, is awake. Probably making sure I don't speak to Katniss. It's kind of pointless, because I'd have to speak pretty loudly for her to hear anything I say at the distance we are, and that would wake them all up anyway. But she still doesn't trust me. Maybe she's worried I'll slit all their throats in their sleep.

It's not a half-bad idea. If Glimmer and Clove weren't awake, I would seriously consider doing just that. I wouldn't have a bit of a problem killing these wolves.

I lay in my sleeping bag, my back turned to Clove so she wouldn't see my open eyes. My ears are alert. But I'm exhausted. So, so exhausted from the long day with no sleep. I know if I close my eyes, I'll be out like a light. So I keep them open and lay in the most uncomfortable position possible. There's a hard rock underneath my hip. Everytime I feel myself drifting off I dig into it and the pain wakes me up.

Any idea I had of coming up with a plan has flown out of my mind. My thoughts are fuddled and confused. It's all I can do to stay awake. A frog croaks near the pond. An owl hoots in the distance. Clove starts to snore somewhere around one o'clock. I lay on my back and watch the moon's progress across the sky. It helps keep me awake for a little while.

I start to doze and wake with a start when a mockingjay gives a sleepy, startled chirp. I reposition myself so the rock is right in the middle of my back. I notice Glimmer's fallen asleep.

The fact that everyone is asleep except for me helps remind me how utterly exhausted I am. I wonder what Three's doing. If he wonders why we haven't come back. He's probably sleeping peacefully, knowing that there's less of a chance of the Careers slitting his throat in the middle of the night. He'll get a good night's sleep. Lucky him.

The ground starts waving and spinning beneath me because I'm so tired, and I fight to keep my eyelids open. I think of Katniss, and the extreme danger she's in. That wakes me right up. The moon's about three quarters of the way across the sky now.

_Just a bit longer,_ I tell myself.

Thinking about Katniss seems to keep me from dozing off. She still must hate me right now, must honestly want me dead because I've teamed up with the Careers. I don't look too good right now in her eyes. It looks very much like I want her dead, like I'm willing to kill her myself. I wonder what the audience thinks. What the people back in Twelve think.

With a jolt I realize I haven't thought about my family much since I left. I wonder what the house is like without me there. It can't be all that different. My father must have told them what I plan to do. They've probably already started the mourning process. From what I know of my mother, she's probably slightly more violent. My father's probably a bit more subdued. My brothers . . . well, I don't know. They've probably gone on as usual. They don't like to dwell much on anything uncomfortable. Anything that causes pain.

I wonder now what my friends think. About my declaration of love. About the lies I've said since, about wanting Katniss dead. They must think I'm despicable. I look like I've been playing with her. Tricking her. They must despise me as much as Katniss surely does. Except maybe Delly Cartwright. She always wants to believe the best in everyone. She's my oldest friend and she probably believes me, and must think it's incredibly sweet that I'm in love with Katniss. That I'm trying to protect her now.

My staying awake tonight probably helps my case, though. I have no doubt the cameras are on me. Though they rarely show the Games at night when people are asleep, I'm guaranteed to be the first thing on the update in the morning.

It's around dawn when the birds start to chirp and sing cheerily. The sky's turned grey. The Careers are still asleep. I won't wake them. I'll let them wake up on their own. I still haven't worked out a strategy. The sun starts to rise when I hear it.

It's a strange buzzing, almost a sawing sound. It's coming from above. I squint to make out that Katniss has climbed up even higher, and is sawing at a branch. I sit up on my elbows in confusion. What on earth is she doing?

She saws at the branch about seven times, and pushes it away from her as it falls. I sit bolt upright. The branch crashes through the tree, and as it gets closer I see a large round object attached to the end of it and I hear insects buzzing angrily. It lands right in the middle of our camp, and big, golden, nasty, unnatural-looking wasps fly out of it and head straight for us, zoning in.

The Careers wake up and start screaming, slapping at the wasps, which I know are tracker-jackers. We learn about them in school.

I have just enough sense left to leave everything and bolt. I'm not the only one. Cato, Clove, and Marvel take the lead. But the girl from Four and Glimmer are not so quick. They fall behind, too many tracker jacker stings on them to count and they swell like balloons. But I can hear them crashing behind me and shrieking.

I hear Cato screaming at us to get to the lake. But there's no way we can outrun all those tracker jackers. I'm stung twice, once on the neck, and one gets my arm. The effect is immediate. I start to feel woozy and I stumble. More come after me. I get a third sting on my leg. A fourth on my hand.

We've just crashed out of the woods when I realize that neither Glimmer nor the girl from Four are behind us. We've left them behind. With Katniss. And Glimmer had the bow and arrows and Four had a spear. And they would kill Katniss if they had the chance, tracker jackers or not.

I hear Cato shouting after me as I abruptly turn around. But I don't care. I don't look back. I run as fast as I can on what little energy and adrenaline I have left. I have to find Katniss. But finding anything has become hard. The world has become distorted. Colors becoming painfully vibrant. The ground turning to slush beneath my feet. I stumble multiple times, and fall twice. I'm also stung once more, right below my ear.

I hear Cato screaming furiously behind me, taking chase.

The stings swell to the size of plums, some of them are the size of oranges. The stingers in them are incredibly large and painful. I see terrifying images. I look behind me and Cato looks like a living corpse crashing through the bush after me, his mouth stretching from ear to ear and his teeth turning into fangs. The hallucinations have begun.

I run across the girl from Four. She twitches terribly on the ground, screaming, dying. I don't care. The only thing I'm interested in is her weapon. I rip it from her hands, and her hands come with it, sparkling and glistening, spewing blood everywhere.

_It's not real, it's not real . . ._

There's no way it could be real. Nevertheless, the sight makes me nearly scream in a panic. I run my hand down the shaft of the spear, and the hands let go of them. Blood smears down them and a nasty green colored ooze. There's two reasons I do what I do next. The first being that someone should put this poor girl out of her misery, and two, because it's one less person in the Games. I stab her in the chest. The canon blast seems louder than usual.

I take off again, holding tightly to the spear. Bones crunch under my feet and the only thing that keeps my fragile grip on reality is that I save Katniss. I have to save her by killing Glimmer.

I hear someone ahead, and, thinking it's Glimmer, I raise the spear, ready to throw it and kill the second to last threat to Katniss.

But it's not Glimmer. It's Katniss. Glimmer lies at her feet, swollen to three times her normal size. I lower my spear and look at her in shock.

She looks in bad shape, but there's no time to worry about that now. She's got the bow and arrows from Glimmer, and is trying to point them at me, but she's off by about three feet and her eyes are wide. Her hallucinations have begun, too. She's got two stings on her face.

I hear Cato crashing behind me. I have to get her out of here.

"What are you still doing here?" I hiss at her. She stares at me uncomprehendingly. Cato's getting closer. I prod her with the end of my spear, hoping to shake her out of her trance. "Are you mad? Get up! Get up!" She stands, but doesn't move other than to stare at me fearfully. I push at her, trying to get her to move. "Run!"

At last, she starts to move as I hear Cato slashing his way through the brush behind me. I give her one final push.

"_Run!" _I scream at her. She backs away, and turns to run. I whip around to meet Cato, and barely am able to raise my spear in time to block his sword. His face is filled with hate, betrayal. I hear Katniss tear off behind me. Good. If I'm going to die, here, now, in a furious fight with Cato where he's likely going to want to torment me before killing me, I don't want her to see it. I want her to have plenty of time to run from him if I can't bring him down with me.

"You lying son of a bitch!" Cato shrieks at me, swinging his sword at my head. I throw it to the side. But that doesn't stop him. He swings and I parry. We fight furiously, Cato attacking and attacking me and I have no chance to get on the offensive. But I know I'm not going to win this one. Cato is the better fighter, and my battered wooden spear is not going to last much longer.

A particularly powerful swing from Cato's sword, and the spear snaps in half. I barely dodge out of the way of his sword, but not enough. I feel the sting of the cut on my arm. The two halves fly out of my hand.

Cato leers, thinking he's got me. He brings his sword down, and I twist out of the way. I scramble on the ground for the pointed side of the spear. But I can't find it . . . I can't find it . . . the ground has started to move and crawl, covered in shiny brown bugs, and the spear disappears into the crowd. I cry out in shock, throwing my hands away from things. Cato swings his sword, and I roll out of the way, feeling the bugs crawling over me and in my clothes. I squirm away from them and Cato, who's tugging his sword out of the ground, shining beetles flying everywhere.

He bears down on me, and ants crawl out of his teeth as he smiles. His sword turns an acid green as he points it in my face.

"You're a filthy liar," says Cato. His eyes turn black. He raises his sword, ready to swing. I put my hands up. Then I remember my knife. Hope is not entirely lost. I roll out from under his deathblow, and draw my knife from my belt. Cato's sword is stuck in the ground.

I take advantage while he's trying to pull it out and slash him with my knife. He jumps out of the way, abandoning his sword, but I still managed to cut his arm, giving him a similar wound to mine. He howls, more angry that I've managed to wound him than the wound itself.

Now I can get on the offensive. I aim for his face, and he brings his arm up. He punches me in the stomach and I double over in pain, winded. His eyes gleam. He punches me again, bringing me to my knees.

He walks away from me, and I wrap my arms around my stomach, gasping for air that does not come. He pulls his sword from the ground. It's twice as long as it was, sharp and deadly-looking. It starts to sprout thorns.

_Move,_ I tell myself. But moving seems as impossible an action as flying right now. I can barely hold myself up in the fetal position. I place my hands on the ground to steady myself. My knife is still gripped tightly in my hand. It's covered in Cato's blood. I have to tell myself that the large pool of blood that's forming is probably not real. At least, I hope it's not real. If it is I'm wounded worse than I thought.

Cato spins his sword in a circle, waiting for me to recover enough to at the very least speak.

"Well, Peeta," he says luxuriously. It's clear he thinks he's won. But I'm slowly regaining my breath, and I'm not going down without a fight. I grip my knife tighter. "This is it. Man to man. And it seems I'm the better one. I've beaten you. I'm the better fighter. I'm the better man . . . because I never lied. _I_ never lied to _you._ You could have been the Victor. But instead you chose to deceive me, and you decided to help your precious mockingjay escape."

_My mockingjay . . ._ the thought just barely registers, but I like the sound of it. Even if she is not my mockingjay, even if it will never happen. But it might. If I fight. If I beat Cato. If I stay alive. Because Katniss knows now that I told the truth when I said I loved her. I just clearly saved her life. It might happen. It might.

Maybe it's the tracker jacker venom, but the thought has given me enough hope to survive. I ready myself to move. I look up at Cato, and manage to smile. He looks utterly taken aback. His sword lowers. He looks like himself now. Maybe my flare of courage has been enough to weaken the hallucinations.

"You're right," I say defiantly, straightening up. "I did lie. But I lied to keep _my mockingjay_ safe from _you._ I did it to keep her alive. And you'll never see me regret that. Ever. Even if it's what kills me."

Cato looks utterly furious, but I bet the Capitol people are eating this up. They're probably all holding their breaths. I get up on one knee, and then stand.

We throw ourselves at one another, and I attack with such fury that Cato backs up several feet. Sparks fly off as metal hits metal. One twisting move, and Cato's sword flies out of his hand. But he's not done, not by a long shot. He will fight me to the death, and I will return the favor. He dodges my knife, blocks my every move. I manage to punch him in the jaw over his tracker jacker sting. He howls in pain. He throws himself at me with such force that my feet are knocked out from under me.

He punches me in the shoulder, and grabs my wrist holding the knife. I fight against him. He presses my wrist, and I drop the knife. He's strong, but I'm stronger. Lifting hundred-pound bags of flour my entire life has given me an edge. Katniss and Haymitch were right.

I twist his arm around, and turn my back to him, holding tight to his arm, lifting him over my shoulder just as if he were a bag of flour. I lean forward, tug on his arm, taking his full weight on my back, and throw him over me. He lands on his back with a loud thud, making an _oof!_ sound.

I don't let go of his arm. I turn it, pulling it and its' owner towards me. He struggles madly, and keeping a hold on him is difficult. I wrap my legs around his neck to subdue him, squeezing as tightly as I can, cutting off his air and his circulation. He's slowly turning purple.

But his other arm is free, and it's then that I realize my fatal mistake. I've dropped my knife. And Cato has it in his hand. And he moves more quickly than I can come to the definite conclusion and do something to change it.

He stabs me in my thigh.

Pain. Sheer, pure, unadulterated pain. My entire leg is on fire. Nothing in my life could have prepared me for how much this would hurt. Is it me yelling that terribly? As soon as I realize it is the scream subsides into agonized gasps of pain.

Cato then brings down the knife in a long gash, tearing apart my flesh with my own knife, ensuring that the injury is beyond my power to fix. Not that it wasn't already. I cry out again, and now my gasps have turning into a kind of moaning, high-pitched panting. It's all I can do to stay conscious.

I must have let go of Cato, because now all I can see is his jeering, triumphant face hovering above my own.

"Looks like it is what'll kill you, Lover Boy."

Then he's gone.

And I'm left alone to die.

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><p><em>AN: Pretty please review! I really hope you all liked the fight scene. I've written a few before, but this one was really fun to write. I also hope you liked the interaction between Peeta and Cato, and will forgive me for possibly going off-canon a little bit. But it could have happened, right? Anyway, please leave a review, and thank you so much for reading this story! ~gfg _


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Quick note before I begin, I apologize for submitting this chapter and then deleting it and changing it, but I didn't realize how close I was to the end of Part II. I Just added the last chapter, and just scroll down to __18__ to read what you missed. Once again, I am so sorry for the inconvenience! ~gfg_

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><p><span>15<span>

_I have to move,_ I tell myself, over and over again, trying to fight through the pain and the terrible hallucinations. I have to move. _I have to move. _I can't stay here, out in the open. Exactly where they know I am. I have to give this one last, final push, then I can succumb to a nightmarish, painful sleep, perhaps death. But I can't give in that easily. Not after all I've gone through to stay alive. I have to fight through this. I have to move. _MOVE!_

Slowly, agonizingly, I manage to drag myself into a crawling position, though putting any weight at all on my leg is so painful that I'm left on one leg and two hands. The world spins, and I completely lose my sense of direction. But I see a glittering nearby. Maybe that might help? I don't know what it is. I don't know if it's real or not. Everything seems real. Nothing can be real. But I have to get to it.

I crawl like a blind man, fighting my way through overlarge beetles and dead bodies and ashes and blood. Vultures pick over me, eating my raw flesh. Or are they people from the Capitol? I don't know . . . I don't . . .

I pick my way across the earth which is not the earth. Is that grass or tiny worms and hissing snakes? Is that dirt or ashes from bodies? Rocks or skulls? I crawl through an ocean of blood and slime before I hit something solid. A rock. A boulder. I think. It's flat and solid and hard though the color is wrong. Something to cling to. Something that seems real.

I can't fight it anymore. I give in to the hallucinations, and flying, hideous bats attack me. Nasty, tiny rats swarm me and eat away at the cut in my thigh. I hear screams of agony and I cover my ears but that only makes it worse. It's terrible. The pain. The hallucinations. I think I cling to my leg. I curl up in a ball against the boulder. A weird, distorted, Katniss enters my view. She smiles at me and I feel hopeful. Someone at last who will save me. But then an arrow pierces through her skull and I catch her in my arms. But she's dead. Dead, dead, dead . . . I failed . . . Oh God Katniss is dead . . .

Then she decomposes. Flesh gone. Hair gone. Nothing but bones. Then those are gone. There's nothing but air in my hands. _It's not real . . . it's not real . . ._ _not real . . . real . . . not . . ._

Twice more I see Katniss, and watch her die. The second time she's sparkling, breathtakingly beautiful in her interview dress. She twirls, and the dress makes her look like she's on fire. She _is_ on fire! It's real! She's smoking and burning but all she does is twirl and twirl and laugh. I try to put her out but she turns to ashes when I touch her. The third time she kisses me tenderly before stabbing a knife through her heart. I try to stop her but I'm too late, too late . . . I can't save her . . . she dies in my arms.

How many times do I have to watch her die? I can't lose her once more . . . I can't . . . but the tracker jacker venom has done its job too well. It knows my fears. My biggest fear of losing Katniss. It will force me to see it. Over and over again . . . I fail to save her.

Until finally the pain in my leg brings me back to reality. Not entirely, but enough to know I have to hide. But where? For the first time I examine my surroundings. I've gone further than I thought I had. It's dark. The glittering I saw is a stream. Water! My throat burns from thirst. I crawl weakly to it, and fill my hands, drinking as much as I can until my thirst is sated. I start to dive my face in, too, but the water has turned a blood red and I jump back in horror. The tracker jacker venom isn't finished with me yet.

I turn back to my rock. The blood covering it is a dead giveaway. I try to wipe it away to no avail. I'm making it worse. The whole rock is turning red, dripping blood, more blood . . .

Fearing the hallucinations to come again in full force, I move as quickly as I can and fight through the pain in my leg. Hide. I have to hide.

"_It's lovely," _her voice echoes through my head._ "If only you could frost someone to death."_

Frost . . . cakes . . . camouflage. It's my only chance. I crawl to the stream, picking up as many sticks and leaves as I can. I cover myself in a thick layer of mud. I stick grass to my skin and my clothes. I bury myself under sticks and leaves, making sure to position them and bury them in the ground so that if I move or thrash around because of the tracker jacker venom it won't be noticed. I mash grass and mix it with mud. I swirl the green color over my skin in a perfect pattern. I lay down in a position where my leg hurts the least. I have to prop the injured leg up, tangled in sticks. When I look down at my body I can't even see myself.

The work, throwing myself into the design, the creativity that flows through me keeps the hallucinations at bay, but when I've finished, there's nothing to stop them. I surrender completely, knowing there's absolutely nothing else I can do but wait it out.

The hallucinations do indeed come again, but it's more like a nightmare than the world changing around me. This time it's almost worse, though, because all I see is Katniss, dying over and over again, everytime I'm too late to save her. I fade into blackness and watch her die, my veins flowing with fear and horror and pain.

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. An end to my nightmares. Something so precious I think I must be dead.

I hear singing.

Beautiful singing. Singing so lovely even the birds stop to listen.

_Down in the valley, valley so low_

_Hang your head over, hear the wind blow_

_Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow_

_Hang your head over, hear the wind blow_

_Roses love sunshine, violets love dew, angels in Heaven know I love you._

_Know I love you, dear, know I love you, Angels in Heaven know I love you._

Katniss. Katniss . . . she sings to me. Sings me out of my dark dreams, with braids and ribbons in her hair. So sweet and lovely. She sings me the Valley Song.

_Build me a castle, forty feet high; so I can see her as she rides by,_

_As she rides by, dear, as she rides by, so I can see her as she rides by._

_If you don't love me, love whom you please,_

_Throw your arms round me, give my heart ease._

_Give my heart ease, dear, give my heart ease,_

_Throw your arms round me, give my heart ease._

Slowly, I come out of it, the vision of the five-year old Katniss I fell in love with singing to me, singing to the class. She grows clearer, sharper, growing older, until she is sixteen again, uninjured and unharmed as she was before the games. Utterly beautiful with a long braid over her shoulder, dandelions in her hair and in her hands, wearing the dress she wore at the reaping, her mockingjay pin shining on her chest. Singing through perfectly formed lips with an angel's voice.

_Roses love sunshine, violets love dew, Angels in Heaven know I love you,_

_Know I love you, dear, know I love you, Angels in Heaven know I love you._

Her singing fades, and Katniss smiles at me. Then she too fades away, blowing away with the wind. And with her goes the hallucinations. I drift into a semi-peaceful and deep sleep. When I wake I barely remember the dream.

16

It's still dark when I open my eyes . . . or is it dark again? I have no idea. How many days have I lost? How many deaths have I missed? Who's alive and who isn't?

The terror that Katniss might actually be dead seizes me. There's absolutely no way of knowing now whether she's alive or not. If I've missed days, I've missed the nightly death toll. If I've missed that, they're not going to tell me again who's dead.

What if she's dead?

The amount of times I've just seen her die has done nothing to dull my fear of that. If anything, it's made it worse. I almost want to get up and start shouting for her, but when I try to sit up all the blood drains from my head and I collapse back into the ground. She'll have to find me. I'm too weak to even move to the stream to drink more water. I'm too weak. Weak and tired and in pain.

Somehow, if I close my eyes and focus entirely on the pain, it's less. Almost like with every throb it fades away. Not completely, but enough to make it bearable. I start to drift off. I let myself sleep. I haven't slept properly in probably days. Being in that tracker jacker induced nightmare does not count as sleep. I fall into a deep, dreamless slumber.

The anthem wakes me. I open my eyes and watch the sky. Just the seal. No deaths today.

I'm shivering. But it's not the kind of shivering from outside cold. It's the cold that comes from within. I'm cold on the inside and burning up on the outside. There's only once before I've ever had a fever this bad. My father was so worried. He thought I was on death's door. I was. The district doctor was called, and he gave me a week's worth of pills that helped reduce my fever and some antibiotics to help me fight it off.

But here, there will be no pills to help me. There are some in the arena, I know that. We went through that pile of medical supplies on the first day. I know what I need is in there. But it's impossible. Even if somehow I did manage to make it to the horde of supplies, the Careers would kill me.

The Careers! I wonder if they are looking for me. Cato thought the wound he gave me would kill me, yet somehow I am still alive. They have not seen my face in the sky. Would they be hunting me? Surely not. They have bigger problems to deal with. Their number has been reduced significantly. Two of them I know are dead. One by my own hand.

The girl from District Four. The boy from District Five.

Now I have killed two.

I've turned into a monster. Just like Cinna told me not to. I didn't even bat an eyelash when I killed that girl from 4, and I can't bring myself to regret it now or even feel guilty. I am now just as much of a cold-blooded killer as the Careers, who I was also willing to kill. I am a monster.

I realize I don't even know their names. The face of the boy from Five I will never forget, but already the girl from 4 is fading from my memory. Forgettable. Very easily forgettable.

_Don't let them change you . . ._

They already have changed me. I would never have killed a thing in my life if my name had never been drawn in the reaping. If I had never come to this God-forsaken arena. How can the Capitol people enjoy this? Don't they know the lives they ruin? Like Haymitch, who can't stand being sober for more than a second.

Speaking of Haymitch . . .

Why has he not helped me? Surely I have sponsors. He could send in medicine for my wound at the touch of a button. Send it down in a little silver parachute. But he hasn't. I haven't received a thing from him. Am I deluded in thinking I have sponsors? Or has my insolence and stubbornness pissed Haymitch off so badly that he will not help me even to save my life? Or are all the gifts going to Katniss?

I wouldn't doubt it. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's chosen to help her over me, but to not help me at all? To just let me die like this?

Oh yes, I know I'm dying. I'm not stupid. The fever, the pain, the inability to feed myself and the absence of clean water . . . I'll be gone in a matter of days. I don't want to go out like this. But that seems to be the situation. There's no getting out of it, and there's nothing I can do. I should have stayed out in the open where someone would have been able to kill me. That way I would not be condemned to die slowly like this.

So I suppose I will lie here, maybe sleep, but all I can really do is wait for the fever to take me to my death.

17

BOOM!

I wake with a start.

"What the—?"

The ground beneath me shakes. The sound is so loud it's reverberated around the entire arena. It was much, much louder than a canon blast. What, then, could it be?

BOOM!

This time I sit up. It's not as loud as the first one. Two more similar sounds follow, and then the arena stills. I look around.

My view from here is limited, but it'd be hard to miss the acrid-colored smoke trailing into the sky. The origin, I think, is somewhere near the lake. What could have possibly made a sound that loud? Not a canon blast. An explosion. A big enough one to shake the ground.

The only thing in the arena that could possibly explode are . . . are the mines.

Someone has tried to break into the Career's stash. Someone was actually hungry enough or stupid enough to fall for it. The illusion that the supplies are completely unprotected, which they are not. But it really sounded like all of them went off at once. Three had said that if one went off, the rest of them would be unaffected. That they were set off by pressure. He was either wrong, or I'm wrong now, or someone has intentionally blown up the Career's supplies.

The thought makes me grin. I wonder who would have done that.

There's a whole list of people I think are clever and bold enough to do it. Katniss, for one. Thresh. Maybe Rue. Hell, maybe Three himself did it and is now laughing himself silly in hiding. Kudos to whoever did it, though. Good for them. Hungry Careers are a lot easier to kill. They might as well already be dead because they so incapable of feeding themselves, and they've probably never missed a meal in their lives. I guess this is probably the only advantage the poorer Districts have. We've been hungry before. We know how to be hungry.

About five minutes later I hear the canon blast. Someone, somewhere just paid the price. I can see them, all of the Careers and Three crashing back through the woods to the lake to find their stash blown sky high. Cato would be pissed. He would turn on the first person he could assign blame to. Three.

So most likely, Three has just been killed by Cato.

But none of this is relevant to me. It certainly doesn't help me. I lay back down, my entire body feeling like it weighs three times its normal amount. Even though I've lost a lot of weight. I haven't eaten in days.

And yet I am not hungry. Not in the slightest. That's strange. I am thirsty, however. I have a pounding headache from dehydration.

It's a good thing I positioned myself so close to the stream. I barely have enough energy to kick away the sticks I've tangled myself in. Pain flares through my thigh. My leg is asleep. I drag myself to the water. Each movement is more painful than the last. Three drags and I'm there, but it's liked I've climbed Mount Everest, I'm so exhausted. I collapse next to the stream, panting and groaning from pain.

It's at least ten minutes before I can bring myself to move. To drag my arms and raise my head enough to cup water and bring it to my mouth. I can only take a few sips and then I'm done. I should drink more. Next time I'm thirsty I might not even be able to crawl the few feet from my hiding place to the stream. But I can't bring myself to drink anymore. The little water I just drank has settled unpleasantly in my stomach.

I roll over on my back. This one motion is enough to send tremors of pain through my body. I cry out softly, my hands automatically reaching to my thigh. It's also enough for the bile to rise in my throat and I barely manage to roll to my side and lose the water I just drank away from me. My eyes water and my breath comes out in short, erratic gasps. My fever is burning me from the inside out. There's no need for fire. I'm already on fire. I can't even think straight.

I can't go on like this much longer.

This is by far the worst I've ever felt in my life. Aside from the tracker jacker hallucinations, of course, but this kind of pain is in a whole other category from that. This is a sick, slow, gruesome pain that I know will only end with help or my death. But the longer this goes on the more likely it is that the latter will happen, regardless if I get the former or not.

I have to get help. But here, there is no one to help me that doesn't also want me dead.

I wonder if Katniss would help me if she found me. I hear Haymitch's words echo in my head. _"It's like she owes you for something . . ."_

Would my saving her earlier be enough for her to feel like she owes me? Owes me enough, perhaps, to save my life? Maybe if I wasn't in such a bad state, it would be. But how I am? She could easily pass me off as already dead. Too sick to bother. Too much of a risk to her own life to help me, having to care for someone as sick as I am when she should be worrying about herself. No, Katniss cannot help me.

My only chance, then, lies with Haymitch. But if he hasn't sent me anything yet, then he isn't likely to anytime soon. Perhaps he can't find me to send me anything. Then I remember the tracker in my arm. No, he knows where I am, but has ignored me. Maybe he doesn't know how bad of a shape I'm in.

"Help," I croak out. Can he hear me? My voice seems so quiet. _"Help,"_ I say, a little louder. It's still pretty low, but it's as loud as I can go and I don't dare try to project my voice more. Who knows who might be near? The Careers might be. And Cato knows I am not dead. He hasn't seen my face in the sky. Both Clove and Cato would kill me if they found me.

I wait, but nothing happens. No silver parachute. Nothing at all. Haymitch has abandoned me. I am on my own.

Anger flashes through me. We had a deal, him and I! How am I supposed to keep Katniss safe when I'm lying in this ditch half-dead? I don't even know if she's . . .

Oh, God, what if she_ is_ dead? That's the only good reason I can think of for Haymitch not helping me. That I've failed. I've failed, I've failed. . . .

The despair at the possibility that Katniss Everdeen no longer exists is so terrible that it takes me out of my senses. It's like I've been infused with tracker jacker venom once again. Awful, horrible thoughts and images fill my brain. How did she die? When did she die? Who killed her?

_Who killed her . . ._

And I find a reason to keep surviving.

Revenge.

18

I have returned to my hiding spot, and arranged my camouflage more accurately and smeared more mud and grass on my face, covering the tracks of tears. I drift in and out of sleep during these two days, my fever growing worse, the pain in my leg growing worse.

The night comes. Two more faces appear in the sky when the anthem plays. I was right when I assumed Cato killed the boy from Three. The boy from District Ten is also dead.

I have stopped thinking Katniss is dead. I tell myself I have to believe she is alive, or I will die myself. I almost have felt myself fading a few times before I come to this conclusion. Believing she is alive helps me hold on to life.

The fever has made me delusional. I have the worst nightmares that are hard to wake from. The night passes and the day comes in a haze of dreams my feverish brain produces. But I hear something during the second day from the explosion that wakes me right up.

Singing. Mockingjays, singing. Somewhere off in the distance. It's faint, but I can hear it. It gives me hope. There's only one person I know who the mockingjays would sing like that for. Katniss. My mockingjay. And I know, somehow, maybe because of this, or maybe because my heart is not as broken as it should be, I know she is still alive. And it's enough to keep me alive.

That night in the sky there are two more faces. Marvel, who I cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief over his death, and Rue.

Tiny Rue, our shadow. The child that followed Katniss and I around during training. The little girl who seemed too innocent to belong in such a violent affair as the Hunger Games. Even though I knew she had to die, her death seems so _wrong_. Tiny little Rue, so innocent in her Gossamer silk gown. I find myself wondering how she died. And somehow this death makes me want justice, more so than when I thought Katniss was dead. Justice, not from the person who killed her, but from the Capitol.

_You know that could be interpreted as Rebellion._

The next day goes by in a blaze of heat. Nothing interesting at all happens to wake me from my feverish slumber. All I seem to want to do anymore is sleep. I'm not hungry. I'm not even thirsty anymore. I reapply more mud to my skin, and it cools me down somewhat. But it's not nearly enough. My leg now has a sharp aching pain. And it's spread. My whole thigh hurts, my groin and stomach and the top of my other leg. Sleeping is the only pain reliever I have, yet still reaches me through my dreams.

I wake up for the anthem. No deaths. I close my eyes to go back to sleep. But then I hear the trumpets blare, and I snap my eyes open, listening closely as I can through my dull, throbbing hearing. Trumpets mean an announcement from the outside world. Probably an invite to a feast, which I have no chance of going to anyway. But still, I listen.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms down from the sky, and there's no need for me to listen closely. I can hear his voice perfectly. He congratulates the six of us who remain. Six people. Valuable information, information I have been almost literally dying for. But he has more to say, and it's not to invite us to a feast.

There's been a rule change to the Games. A rule change? That in and of itself is confusing, because there really are no rules once you're in the arena. But what he says next explains everything, though it takes two tries for it to sink in.

If both tributes from the same District survive to the last two, then they will both be declared winners.

Both Katniss and I can survive. Both of us can live. Both of us can become Victors. We can both go back to Twelve.

Katniss's name escapes from my lips in a very hoarse voice before I can stop myself.

* * *

><p><em>An: FINALLY, I have finished Part II. _

_What did you guys think of the Valley Song? I had to do some research on that, lol. I typed in the Valley Song in Bing and came up with Jane's Addiction, haha . . . so I had to add the american folk song to the end of it . . . the song I picked is 'Down in the Valley,' which seems the most likely option (there was also 'Red River Valley' but that didn't fit). And most likely most of you have heard that song, at least, if you've ever had a music class in your life, I'm sure it rings a bell. Anyway, the idea popped into my head two chapters ago and I thought it was so lovely and very Peeta that I had to put it in somewhere. I hope you liked it!_

_As always, thank you so much for continuing to read this story, and please please please leave a review! ~gfg_


	12. Part III: The Victor

**PART III**

"**THE VICTOR"**

19

I lay in shock for a few moments as the unprecedented information sinks in. There can be only one good reason they have made this change to the rules. I seriously doubt it's for Cato and Clove's benefit. The star-crossed lovers from District 12 must be wildly popular with the audience. So much so that if we both didn't survive it would jeopardize the success of the Games.

It's clear they want to bring us together. Now that I'm on death's door and I need help more than ever. Why have they waited so long? Maybe they took some convincing. Perhaps from a certain drunken mentor I know?

I smile. He hasn't abandoned me after all. I asked for help, and he has given it to me.

But will Katniss come? Surely she will. She wouldn't let me die now that we are allies. Even if she really has no affection for me (I feel a bit of a sting to my pride at this thought), then she will find me because if she doesn't and goes back to Twelve without me when she could have prevented it, she will be despised. Not to mention the fact that we're supposed to be madly in love, and the audience will expect her to find me.

But I like to think she will find me because she honestly, truly does not want me to die. That she cares for me in one way or another, and now that there is nothing holding her back, she can allow herself to acknowledge it.

And this new rule also means that I now know without a doubt that she is alive. Relief and hope flood through me for a moment.

Six left . . . that's what Claudius Templesmith said. I count off in my head who I know must be dead and the possible ones that remain. Katniss. Myself. Cato and Clove. Thresh, most likely. That makes five. There's no way I could figure out who remains with my feverish mind and lack of information. So I don't dwell on it.

I trust Katniss to be able to find me, even with my camouflage. She is a hunter, and now she will be hunting me. She will have to find me to keep me alive. But how long will it take her? Where is she? I don't think I can last much longer without help. If she takes more than at the very most two days if I'm lucky, a day if I've overestimated myself. Will she be able to find me and help me in time?

And that's the million dollar question.

I wait. But I can't stay awake that long. I am too sick. I struggle to stay awake for a few moments, but it's a useless cause. I fall asleep.

I stay asleep much, much too long. The sun is high in the sky. I am really pushing the envelope here. I feel like I'm going to die. I know I'm going to die. If Katniss doesn't find me soon.

I manage to stay awake somehow. She's got to be close. She's got to be able to find me soon.

I hear light footsteps. They are almost silent. Someone is close by. I hope against hope it's Katniss, but I know there are others left who will kill me if they find me. I lay perfectly still with my eyes shut. My last defense is to stay hidden.

"Peeta!" says a hushed voice. Katniss. She's found me. I'm immensely relieved, but I'm just so happy that she's found me and doesn't want to kill me that I have to mess with her just a bit. Besides, I want to see how well I've done my camouflage.

"Peeta!" she calls again in a hushed whisper. A mockingjay starts to mimic her, so she stops. I hear her step down the river. I wait until she's walked about two feet above my head and has just stepped into the water.

"You hear to finish me off, sweetheart?"

I hear the leaves rustle as she whips around.

"Peeta?" she whispers. "Where are you?"

Awesome. I am awesome. I'm right in front of her and she can't find me.

"Peeta?"

She comes closer. She's hovering above me. I can see her shadow through my eyelids blocking out the sun. She isn't going to stop walking, though. I really don't think I want her boot in my face.

"Well, don't step on me," I say. She jumps back, but still she can't see me. I open my eyes and look at her. She gasps, finally locating me. I grin. She's a sight for sore eyes.

"Close your eyes again," she orders. It must be really good for her to want to see it again. I close my eyes and close my mouth over my teeth. She kneels beside me. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off."

I smile. Meeting her again on friendly terms has done wonders for my mood. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying."

"You're not going to die," she says firmly. I almost want to believe her.

"Says who?"

"Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," she says. I open my eyes and look at her. She looks in better health than when I last saw her as I helped her run from Cato. Her burns are gone and her tracker jacker stings have all but disappeared. She is the best thing I have seen in days. It's almost made me giddy. If I wasn't dying, I might be dancing a jig.

"So I heard," I say. "Nice of you to find what's left of me."

She pulls out her water bottle, and dribbles cool, clean water into my mouth. It's so much better than the last drink from the stream I had that I might actually be able to keep this down.

"Did Cato cut you?" she asks. I wonder how she knows. Possibly she's overheard Cato bragging.

"Left leg," I answer. "Up high."

"Let's get you in the stream," she says. "Wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got."

"Lean down a minute first," I say, an idea popping into my head. Hell, I might get lucky. I doubt it. But I know it will make her laugh, and she looks like she needs one. "Need to tell you something."

She leans over me, placing her right ear over my lips. Her hair brushes my skin and her hand touches the top of my head. A thrill runs through me.

"Remember," I whisper into her ear. "We're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

She jerks her head back, looking at me in shock, but then she laughs as I knew she would. The sound is music to my ears.

"Thanks," she says, smiling beautifully. "I'll keep that in mind."

Katniss examines my camouflage for a minute, and I realize I might have overdone it slightly on the last try. I have sunk so far into the mud that I have become stuck, and the branches and plants have trapped me. And my leg. I realize I can't move at all on my own anymore, something I had not noticed before, having been trapped in feverish sleep. I am dead weight.

Katniss starts to try and help me out, and the pain redoubles at the movement. I clamp my mouth shut, determined to keep quiet for her sake. Moving me is a momentous task. She tries to drag me to the stream, and my attempt to stay quiet fails. The pain is so bad that it seems to have taken over my vocal chords. I make sharp cries of pain and my eyes water. I grit my teeth and try to tough it out. The plants tighten around me and Katniss gives a gigantic tug to break me free. My leg feels like it has been set on fire. She stops moving me, panting. Her arms around my chest are the only thing keeping me from blacking out.

"Look, Peeta," she says. "I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?"

"Excellent," I say weakly.

She crouches down beside me, and places her hands under me.

"On three," she says. I prep myself. This is going to hurt. I know it is. And I am determined to stay quiet. But when she counts to three and rolls me once a strangled groaning sound comes out of my mouth because, not only do I feel like I've been knifed by Cato once again, I feel like I've been punched in the groin.

"Okay," she says. I thought she was going to roll me into the stream. But she stops at the edge. I sincerely hope she isn't going to roll me again. "Change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in."

"No more rolling?" I ask. I'm immensely relieved. I can't handle one more roll.

"That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?"

She hesitates, looking me over, and then takes out two water bottles and a water skin, propping two in the stream so they fill while she uses a third to rinse me off. It takes a while for her to cut through all the mud and find my clothes. Gently, she unzips my jacket, unbuttons my shirt, and eases them off me. Her fingers are exceedingly gentle. She has to cut lose my undershirt plastered to my chest. The cool water feels good on my wounds, particularly the burn I managed to get on my chest.

She looks relieved. But now I'm lying in a large mud puddle. She manages to prop me up against a boulder. Then she starts to wash all the mud away from my bare skin and hair. I watch her, my heart thudding. Her hands are cool against my burning skin.

I didn't realize how much the tracker jacker stings have hurt until she digs the stingers out and applies some chewed-up leaves to the lumps. I sigh in relief.

Then she starts to wash my clothes out while the sun dries my skin. I can't take my eyes off her. Something finally seems right with the world, having her here with me, taking care of me. She starts to hum while she works without noticing it and a wave of happiness floods over me.

Katniss lays my clothes out to dry on a boulder, then takes a first-aid kit out of her pack. She's gotten pretty lucky on supplies, compared with me. She holds out a couple of pills to me that look exactly like the ones the district doctor gave me when I was a kid.

"Swallow these," she tells me. I take the medicine. She bites her lip as she looks at me. "You must be hungry."

She's no doubt noticed the amount of weight I've lost. But at the mere mention of food I feel queasy.

"Not really," I tell her. "It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days."

Even when she offers me a hunk of cooked meat the sight makes me sick. I turn my nose up at it and she immediately looks worried.

"Peeta, we need to get some food in you."

"It'll just come right back up," I say. I suspect whatever I put in my stomach will not stay there. But I haven't lost the water she gave me yet. So when she gives me bits of dried apple I eat enough to satisfy her and simply hope I can keep it down. And I'm really starting to get tired. This is the longest I have stayed awake in days. "Thanks. I'm much better, really," I lie. "Can I sleep now, Katniss?"

I've already slid a few inches down the rock.

"Soon," she promises. "I need to look at your leg first."

She is so gentle when she takes off my boots and socks that she doesn't cause any more pain. Slowly, she inches my pants off. If she didn't look so shocked when she saw the cut, I would have made a joke about her getting me out of my pants. But she starts to turn green and shrinks away, looking very much like she would like to run away. She tries and fails to keep her face calm. You'd think, coming from a house full of healers, that this wouldn't bother her in the slightest. But it's clear it does, no matter how much she tries to hide it. It must be really bad.

"Pretty awful, huh?" I ask. I can't look at it myself. If I do I might upchuck the apples she just fed me and the pain would probably be a lot worse if I knew exactly how bad it is.

"So-so." She shrugs like it's no big deal, but her eyes are so wide that I know it's worse than she's letting on. Her voice is a bit higher than normal. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines."

She looks me over, takes a deep breath.

"First thing is to clean it well," she says. She leaves on my undershorts, scoots the square of plastic I saw her grab at the Cornucopia under me, and starts to wash me off. She treats the tracker jacker stings and burns on my legs easily, but stares at the gash in my leg when she reaches it, looking utterly lost.

"Why don't we give it some air and then . . ."

I feel sorry for her. I suppose she has not inherited her mother's healing skills. She looks so lost that I feel like I should help her, even though I have no idea how. Then I realize I don't have to help her with the medical stuff. She just needs some reassuring.

"And then you'll patch it up?" I suggest.

"That's right," she says, nodding. "In the meantime, you eat these."

She puts few dried pear halves in my hand, and goes back to the stream to wash the rest of my clothes. I look down at the pears, seriously considering burying them. But we need all the food we can get. I can't waste it like that. I nibble at a slice.

"We're going to have to experiment some," she says. I look back over to see her frowning at the medical supplies.

She stuffs some more of the leaves in her mouth, and then presses the lumpy wad into the wound. It stings like hell and the feel of pus leaking down my leg is so disgusting that I want to jerk away. I refrain from doing so for Katniss's sake. She has turned a sickly shade of green and is biting her cheek, looking like she might throw up any minute.

"Katniss?" I say softly. She looks up to meet my eyes and I know how difficult this must be for her. "How about that kiss?"

She bursts out laughing. Perhaps because she is so uncomfortable with the situation and the only way to release it is laughter. Which is what I had meant to happen. I hadn't really expected a kiss from her. Not now, when I'm almost naked and there's pus running down my leg. Not very romantic. Besides, she looks like she's about to puke anyway.

"Something wrong?" I ask innocently.

"I...I'm no good at this," she confesses. "I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus. Euh!" she accentuates as she rinses away the leaves and groans as she applies the second. It's almost comical, the irony of the situation. She has no problem slicing an arrow through a squirrel's eye and yet this bothers her.

"How do you hunt?" I ask.

"Trust me," she says. "Killing things is much easier than this." She pauses for a moment, considering her words. "Although, for all I know, I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a little?" I joke as she removes another round of leaves. I wouldn't complain outright, but it hurts pretty bad.

"No. Shut up and eat your pears."

This makes me smile. At least until she shoves more leaves in my cut. Then I hiss in pain. After a couple more rounds of leaves she's finished with them, and examines the wound, looking less green now that all the pus is gone. I feel a lot better now, too. My leg doesn't hurt as bad and it's a lot lighter.

"What next, Dr. Everdeen?"

"Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?"

She does so, and my leg feels better than it has in days when she wraps it up. I find I can actually look at my leg now. It's as if the whole thing never happened. If it didn't feel so sore I might have believed it. Katniss looks at my undershorts in disgust. They do look pretty nasty next to the clean white cotton.

"Here," she says, taking out a spare backpack and handing it to me. "Cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

"Oh," I say, slightly surprised at the backpack. Naked bodies are no big deal in the Hunger Games. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say it's encouraged. "I don't care if you see me."

"You're just like the rest of my family. I care, all right?"

She turns her back to me. I guess her reserve extends to seeing other people naked as well. I do as she says, then, and throw my shorts in the stream. She kneels down to wash them.

"You know," I say, slightly amused. "You're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person. I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all."

She wrinkles her nose.

"What's he sent you so far?"

"Not a thing," I answer. Nothing except for her, which is all I really needed. But I'm not even sure that was Haymitch's doing. I pause as I realize he _has_ given her gifts while I lay here dying. "Why, did you get something?"

"Burn medicine," she says sheepishly. "Oh, and some bread."

"I always knew you were his favorite."

"Please," she scoffs. "He can't stand being in the same room with me."

"Because you're just alike," I mutter, remembering my thoughts back at the training center. She ignores me.

I'm so tired by now that I can't hold my head up any longer. I lean my head back against the rock, turning my head to look at Katniss by the stream. I doze off watching her.

I wake up to Katniss gently shaking my shoulder sometime late afternoon.

"Peeta, we've got to go now."

"Go?" I ask, confused. Why would we leave? I can barely move and she expects me to walk someplace else? I really hope she doesn't expect me to climb up a tree. "Go where?"

"Away from here," she answers. "Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger."

I accept this. I guess it is dangerous to stay out in the open like this. I've been under the illusion that this place was safe because of my camouflage, but that's gone now. I have to trust to Katniss to keep me safe. Which I think I do more than my camouflage.

She helps me dress, and the clothes are warm from drying in the sun. I forgot how nice it is to have clean clothes. She leaves my feet bare, and pulls me upright. The wave of pain when I put weight on my leg is so bad that I nearly faint. All the blood rushes from my head and I stumble. Katniss keeps me upright, though, gripping tightly to me. I lean heavily on her, unable to support myself fully.

"Come on," she encourages. "You can do this."

We walk in the water and head downstream. Every step is agonizing and exhausting. We make it about fifty yards before the blood simply can't make it entirely to my brain. Black starts to crawl on the edges of my vision before Katniss sits me down on the bank and pushes my head in between my knees, patting me on the back. The blood rushes back to my head and as I put my hands over my face I realize my fever has returned in full force and worse than before.

I'm somewhat aware of Katniss standing me up and half-carrying me uphill. We enter into a small cave, just big enough for the two of us. I'm shivering. It's so cold. Is it cold outside or is it my fever? I can't tell. There's a hazy black spot in my memory and I'm vaguely aware of being tucked into a warm sleeping bag by Katniss.

I am utterly useless right now. I don't feel better. If anything, I feel worse. I'm so exhausted and cold. My whole lower body is in pain. Despite everything Katniss has done, I don't think it's going to be enough. There's a very real chance I might not make it out of this arena with Katniss.

I watch her try to put up a blind of vines in the mouth of the cave. Still trying to protect us both. Keep us alive.

As I look at her, I start wish more than anything that things were different. And I realize before I die that she has to know how I really feel. That it wasn't all for show. That I really and truly do love her more than anything in the world.

She examines the blind for a few moments, then tears it down, scowling in frustration.

"Katniss," I say softly. She comes over to me and kneels down beside me. She brushes the hair out of my eyes gently. Her soft touch makes my heart beat a bit faster. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," she says. Her hand comes to rest on my temple. Her hand is cooling and soothing on my burning skin. Then all of a sudden she looks terrified.

"Yes." I agree. She must have the same fear I do right now. That I'm going to die. I have to tell her. "Look, if I don't make it back—"

"Don't talk like that," she says, her voice slightly harsh. I'm touched at her concern. The emotion in her voice couldn't just be part of the show. "I didn't drain all that pus for nothing." The words are a joke, but her tone is serious and her eyes are hard.

"I know," I say quietly. "But just in case I don't—"

"No, Peeta," she says, placing her fingers over my lips to silence me. My breath hitches at the contact. "I don't even want to discuss it."

"But I—"

But I can't get the rest of my words out. Because Katniss has just leaned forward and kissed me, wiping every other thought from my head.

Shock is the first thing I feel. Second I feel like I've been punched in the gut. But before the fireworks start she's already broken away from me. She pulls the sleeping bag up around me.

"You're not going to die," she says softly. "I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," I whisper.

This is what I mean about her having no idea about the effect she can have. She has not only left me in a shocked daze, but also believing her words. She has successfully made me give up on giving up, replaced it with the will to survive. She can fill even the most hopeless with hope or tear down the most powerful man in the word to a sobbing wreck if she wanted to. If it helped her or those she cares about survive. Maybe I can now even count myself among those lucky few. I feel like I have simultaneously missed a step going downstairs and have floated into the air. I have fallen that much more in love with her.

Katniss stands and walks out of the cave to stand in the air. She clearly still has no idea all she has done to me. I close my eyes, and savor the tingling on my lips. I drift off memorizing our first kiss.

And am greeted with my second one when I wake up. I'm surprised. She seems incredibly happy for some reason. It's infectious. I smile at her, happy that I am so lucky. Something I never thought I would think until this moment, and definitely not in the arena. She holds up a pot filled with steaming broth. My stomach churns unpleasantly.

"Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."


	13. Chapter 13

20

I decide I hate Haymitch. I truly, utterly loathe him for sending down food that Katniss is surely going to make me eat. And she does. She makes me eat every bite. I fight her at every spoonful because food is the last thing I want right now. It smells awful, it tastes awful, and it's hard to swallow down. I know if I wasn't so sick it might taste delicious, but that doesn't make me want any of it. However, I do get kisses whenever I don't fight her as much, so there's some incentive to eat.

When the pot is empty, the food actually has stuck and it settles comfortably in my belly, nice and warm. I start to feel drowsy again and Katniss lets me sleep. Nightmares plague me. I wake up several times, still half in my dream world. The second time I wake I feel a warm body next to me, watching over me and outside. Katniss. I smile happily. When I drift back into sleep the nightmares aren't so bad.

When I wake up fully, I feel much better. My fever's broken. Then I notice that Katniss is not beside me. I open my eyes and sit up weakly. She's not anywhere in sight.

Panic grips me. What if Cato and Clove have found her? I start to get up so I can go find her, but it's difficult because my leg feels like dead weight.

Katniss appears in the mouth of the cave and a wave of relief sweeps over me. The fright I've just felt doesn't disappear so easily, though. She raises her eyebrows questioningly at me.

"I woke up and you were gone," I explain. "I was worried about you."

She chuckles as she eases me back down. "You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

"I thought Cato and Clove might have found you," I say seriously. "They like to hunt at night."

"Clove? Which one is that?"

"The girl from District Two," I explain. I realize, though I have assumed Clove has survived because she doesn't seem the type to go out so easily, I have had no information to confirm this. "She's still alive, right?" I ask.

"Yes," she answers. Though I am not surprised by the answer, I don't like it. I have no doubt Clove still has it out for me, and she would kill me happily. And Katniss, just to hurt me. "There's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface."

Who in the hell is Foxface?

"That's what I named the girl from Five," she answers my unsaid question. "How do you feel?"

"Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud," I say, smiling happily at her. Though I still feel awful, I really do feel a bit better after a good night's sleep. And I know most of the reason is because of everything Katniss has done for me. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag…and you."

She smiles, and touches my cheek. Sparks fly in my chest at the gesture. She starts to pull away but I catch her hand, and kiss it. Just because I can do that now. And it feels wonderful that I can.

I desperately want to believe this is real, but some part of me knows a lot of this is all for the audience. Especially on her part. A little bit on mine. Because normally I would never be so forward. It took me years to even talk to her, longer to confess my feelings, and even then it was all for the audience. Being forward is definitely not one of my strong points.

"No more kisses for you until you've eaten," says Katniss.

Dammit.

We prop myself against the wall into a sitting position and under threat of no more kisses I eat the berry mush she feeds me. I manage to keep it down but when she tries to feed me groosling meat the smell churns my stomach and I turn it down. Thankfully, she doesn't force it on me.

I scrutinize Katniss while she makes me eat. She looks tired. She has dark circles under her eyes and I wonder how long it's been since she's had a good night's sleep. As far as I know, she has been alone in the arena until this time. And most likely sleeping in trees. I have no idea how she can sleep like that at all, and I can't even begin to believe she has slept restfully. And last night she was keeping watch over me, keeping us safe. Even now I can tell she's exhausted.

"You didn't sleep," I voice my thoughts aloud.

"I'm all right," she lies.

"Sleep now," I tell her. "I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens."

She doesn't seem entirely convinced. She has to sleep, though. And it's better she does it now while she still can. Who knows what could happen tomorrow? I'd rather have an alert and well-rested Katniss taking care of me and keeping me safe than a groggy one. But my reasons are not entirely selfish. She's going to wear herself out if she doesn't sleep.

"Katniss, you can't stay up forever," I point out. She sighs, giving in.

"All right," she says. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me."

She smooths the sleeping bag out and lays on top of it, one hand on her loaded bow. I would call her paranoid, but she has every reason to be. I sit close beside her, sitting up against the wall to make sure I don't fall drift off, my leg stretched out. The pain has increased a bit. Katniss keeps her eyes trained on my face. I look down at her.

"Go to sleep," I say softly, and it only seems natural to brush the loose strands of hair off her forehead. She closes her eyes at my touch. I don't want to stop stroking her hair and she doesn't complain, so I don't, even when she falls asleep.

And I decide I love watching her sleep. She looks so much more peaceful. That ever-present scowl of hers disappears, and her expression becomes very soft as well as her breathing. The weight of her world has lifted off her shoulders in sleep. She could be as innocent and happy and peaceful as she was before her father died.

I become so absorbed looking at her that I almost forget I'm supposed to be keeping watch. I look outside, but there's no danger to speak of. So I continue watching her sleep, glancing every once and a while outside the cave to make sure everything is safe and sound.

She said to wake her after a few hours, but I can't bring myself to do it. There's really no reason to wake her, and she needs a good hard sleep. And I love seeing her sleep. It takes me back to a happier time during childhood. I can't let go of it that easily.

It's late afternoon by the time her breathing has quickened and her eyes flutter open. She sits up, looking much better rested. She does look slightly angry, though.

"Peeta," she says accusingly. "You were supposed to wake me after a couple hours."

"For what? Nothing's going on here," I say. She frowns at me. "Besides I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your look a lot."

And of course she scowls at this, making me grin. She looks at me in concern, and places a cool hand on my cheek.

"Have you been drinking?" she says accusingly.

"Hey," I say, smirking. "I'm not Haymitch."

She huffs at this, though the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement. "I meant water."

"I know," I say. "And yes I have been."

I'm lying. I haven't been drinking much water. At all, actually. I wasn't thirsty, and I was more caught up in watching Katniss sleep. Water is somewhere down around food on my priority list right now. Which on a healthy person's priority list is just above getting mauled by a tiger.

It's clear Katniss doesn't believe me. She even checks the water containers. She makes me take more pills and drink two whole quarts of water. Then she tends to my wounds again, leaving my leg for last. She unwraps it, and this time I look at it myself. Dread fills me as I see the red streaks crawling their way up my leg. Even though my medical skills are rudimentary (pretty much limited to stick a band-aid on it) I know enough to know that it does not bode well for me.

"Well," she says unsteadily, looking worried. "There's more swelling, but the pus is gone."

"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," I say softly. There's no point in her trying to hide it from me. It's more destructive than not. "Even if my mother isn't a healer."

Her eyebrows come in and up, and she bites her lip anxiously.

"You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win."

She's in denial. Avoiding the situation like my brothers do.

If I'm doomed, I'm doomed. It's already too late to save me. I might have known this from the moment Cato stabbed me and left me alone. I had already resigned myself to die, anyway. At least now I can die knowing Katniss doesn't want me dead, and knowing she doesn't hate me. And this means a change in the game plan. I don't want her tethered to a dying person. She should be free, like a bird. Like a mockingjay. And then she can bring down the other tributes and go home. I can't help her anymore. Not like this.

But I don't voice any of this. I know from when I tried to say if I didn't make it back and she kissed me that that would lead nowhere and get me nothing.

"Yes, that's a good plan," I say instead.

"You have to eat," she says. "Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup."

"Don't light a fire," I say, suddenly concerned she'd give away our position by doing so. "It's not worth it."

"We'll see," she says, then exits the cave.

While she's gone I grow progressively worse. I feel absolutely miserable. My leg hurts like hell. My entire body is sore. I'm hot and cold at the same time. Staying in the sleeping bag makes it unbearably warm, so I lay on top of it.

Katniss is gone for a while. I wish she'd come back. I'm beginning to feel too alone. Having another person with me the arena makes it seem less violent. Sometimes I've almost forgotten I'm in the Hunger Games and on national television with Katniss around and taking care of me, talking to me. It's so wonderful to hear another human voice . . .

God, I'm going loony. This fever and heat is getting to me.

At long last, Katniss comes back. She puts cool clothes on my head. Just like my parents would do if I were sick. My father would always tell me stories after he did this. And they always made me feel better.

"Do you want anything?" asks Katniss.

"No," I say. She's already doing enough for me. "Thank you. Wait," I say, remembering those stories my father would tell me, and wondering if Katniss would do the same. And I'd really like to know a bit more about her. "Tell me a story."

"A story?" she says, looking slightly apprehensive. "What about?"

"Something happy," I say, because I've had enough misery and conflict for a lifetime. "Tell me about the happiest day you can remember."

I know what the happiest day I can remember is. The day I heard Katniss sing. I wonder what hers would be. I want to compare it to mine. She scowls at this, and huffs, which makes me smile. Surely it can't be that hard to come up with a happy story? Maybe it is, when you're Katniss Everdeen and you are the sole breadwinner for the household . . . no pun intended.

"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" she asks. I shake my head. Apparently she's forgotten she's never told me much about anything, and that we didn't even talk to each other before the reaping.

She tells me the story, how she sold an old silver locket of her mother's to pay for dress materials as a birthday present for Prim. That she spots the Goat Man in town while she's at the dress shop with Gale and goes to him. One of the goats was injured, so badly that Goat Man was going to send her to the butcher, but Katniss knew her mother and Prim could fix it. She told Gale she wanted the goat for Prim. Rooba, the butcher, showed up, and all but let Katniss buy it. It took half an hour for Goat Man and Katniss to agree on a price. But she got the goat for her sister, and bought a pink ribbon to tie around it's neck in a moment of complete giddiness. The thought of a giddy Katniss makes me smile, because she never seems to get giddy, and it's a wonderful picture.

Gale carried the goat and they went home. The way she explains Prim's reaction to the goat reinforces how much she loves her sister. Her mother and Prim went to work on fixing up the goat, reminding me of how Katniss is caring for me.

"They sound like you," I voice. She looks down at me like she'd forgotten I was there.

"Oh, no, Peeta. They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried."

Then her eyes go wide, and she bites her tongue, realizing what she has said. Realizing the fact that I _am_ dying. Though I would have been dead long ago if it hadn't been for her care.

"Don't worry," I say jokingly. "I'm not trying. Finish the story."

"Well, that's it," she says. Then she tells me that night Prim had slept with the goat, Lady, on a blanket next to the fire. And the goat licked her cheek just before they drifted off, like it was giving her a good night kiss. The image along with the expression on Katniss's face as she speaks of her sister makes me unbelievably content and happy.

"Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Just trying to get a picture," I say, the image completing itself and bringing a smile to my face. "I can see why that day made you happy."

"Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," she says.

"Yes, of course I was referring to that," I say drily. "Not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping."

"That goat _has_ paid for itself. Several times over," she says in a superior tone. I smile.

"Well, it wouldn't dare do anything else after you saved its life," I say. "I intend to do the same thing."

I do. I plan to give her my life. Whether here or back in Twelve. It's hers. I'll pay it back, one way or another.

"Really?" she says. "What did you cost me again?"

"A lot of trouble," I answer truthfully. "Don't worry. You'll get it all back."

"You're not making sense," she says. I suppose I'm not. I'm not even making much sense to me. I guess I had just said she'd get a lot of trouble back. That's not what I want to give her. She places her hand on my forehead again. Her hand is ice-cold and I know the fever must be worse. She bites her lip. "You're a little cooler though."

Bullshit.

The sound of the trumpets makes us both jump. Katniss is on her feet and at the mouth of the cave in a flash. Claudius Templesmith is inviting us to a feast. We're not even close to being hungry thanks to Katniss, so news of a feast isn't all that important to us. Katniss seems to have the same thoughts I do, and turns away, waving a hand in indifference.

But Claudius's next words are enough to grip me in a panic. Each of us need something desperately, and we'll find what we need in a backpack at the Cornucopia at dawn. And we do need something desperately. Something to heal my leg. Already I know what Katniss is planning on doing, and I am not going to let that happen. She is not going to that thing, where all the other tributes are, all of them willing to kill her if they get the chance. Cato and Clove, who I know for sure will be gunning for her. No. She is not going. Not on my account, and not if I can prevent it.

It's scared me enough to get me to my feet. I grip Katniss on the shoulder, as if to prevent her from running off right now. She jumps.

"No," I say firmly. "You're not risking your life for me."

"Who said I was?" she says.

"So, you're not going?" I say doubtfully.

"Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid."

She helps me get into bed. Her eyes dart between mine, her reassuring smile is a little too wide.

"I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there."

"You're such a bad liar, Katniss," I tell her. I know it's not just me. I may be an expert at lying and can easily pick up when someone's doing so, but even a totally honest person could call her bluff. "I don't know how you've survived this long." I pick up my voice and imitate her. "_I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going._" I shake my head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin."

She flushes angrily now that she's been caught. "All right, I'm going, and you can't stop me!"

She can be stubborn all she wants, but I can be even more stubborn. And I have to be.

"I can follow you," I say determinedly. "At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure."

I really will do just that if she goes.

"You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," she says.

"Then I'll drag myself," I say stubbornly. "You go and I'm going, too."

She looks at me uncertainly. I know I'm starting to work myself over on her. She can probably see me doing it. I will. I swear I will.

"What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?" she says, anger and frustration filling her face. There's also a hint of fear there. It's almost imperceptible. Something the audience probably hasn't picked up on. She really does not want me to die.

"I won't die. I promise." It's a promise I'm not sure if I can keep, but I will hold on as long as I can, for her sake. Maybe the other tributes will kill each other off and we can go home, before the blood poisoning kills me off. "If you promise not to go."

She scowls, knowing I've won. I feel a flare of triumph.

"Then you have to do what I say," she says, giving in. A wave of relief sweeps over me. "Drink your water, wake me up when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!"

"Agreed," I say, knowing I'll have to do everything she says to keep her from going. "Is it ready?"

"Wait here," she says. I watch her as she goes down to get the soup, just to make sure she doesn't try to pull one over on me.

I eat every bite of her soup without complaint, and I'm surprised to find it actually does taste good. I compliment her cooking multiple times but she seems annoyed with this. Though she is very patient with me, and merely nods and agrees with everything I say. Then she gives me another round of fever pills, and I go off my head completely, rambling on about anything and everything that comes to mind.

Katniss is clearly getting impatient with me, and walks out of the cave. I don't bother watching her. I know she's not going anywhere. Right? Right. . . she can't leave me in this state. I'm sick. I need her. I need her to stay alive. And stay with me.

When she comes back she has some kind of mashed up berry concoction in her hands.

"I brought you a treat," she says. "I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream."

Remembering that I have to do everything she says to keep her here, I take the first bite without hesitation. But something seems off.

"They're very sweet," I say. Katniss nods.

"Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?"

She pokes the next spoonful in my mouth. I can't quite place where I've tasted them before, but I know that taste.

"No," I say. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"

I've never even heard of sugar berries.

"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow in the wild," she explains, feeding me another mouthful. If they grow in the wild, then there's no way I've tasted them before. The only thing I eat that grows in the wild is Katniss and Gale's squirrels.

"They're sweet as syrup," I say, and she feeds me the last mouthful.

Syrup . . .

"Syrup," I say.

Syrup!

Haymitch! That traitor! Sleep syrup! How could I be so stupid?

I'm about to spit the stuff out but Katniss clamps her hand over my nose and mouth hard, and the sickly sweet substance slides down my throat without my consent. I try to vomit it up, but already my limbs and eyes feel heavy, heavy, so heavy . . .

And I know as I fade away and Katniss watches over me, looking grim but satisfied, that I will never forgive her for doing this. I'll never forgive Haymitch for enabling it.

And I'll never forgive myself for falling for it.


	14. Chapter 14

21

I wake with a start sometime during the evening.

The first thing I notice is that I feel much, much better. Almost like myself again. The pain in my leg is still there, but the fever is gone and I can think clearly. The second thing I notice is the needle stuck uncomfortably in my arm. When I reach down to pull it out, I notice the pool of blood.

Every other thought flies from my head. Katniss is lying next to me, out stone cold. She's pale, so, so pale, covered in blood. And that pool of blood is too big. Much too big. It's terrifying.

Katniss has left the medical kit lying near me. I grab it, opening it with fumbling fingers. I rip the needle out of my arm impatiently. It starts to bleed, but I ignore it. I have to take care of Katniss first.

Stop the bleeding. That's the first thing I have to do.

But stopping the bleeding turns out to be more difficult than I originally thought. No matter how many bandages I place on the cut over her eyebrow, it almost immediately soaks through. It's such a thin cut but is bleeding so badly. I put as much pressure on it as possible. It keeps bleeding, bleeding . . . and I know if I don't stop it soon Katniss will have lost too much blood, and I'll have lost her.

I can't let that happen.

After I go through about four or five of the white cotton bandages (which are now stained red) the bleeding finally slows and starts congealing. Encouraged by this, I take a real look at the cut. It's nasty-looking, thin but deep. It's not the only cut on her face. There's a tiny thin cut on the edge of her lip. It's not half so bad as the one on her forehead and doesn't really require attending to. I wrap a bandage around her head.

I sit back, looking at Katniss lying there in the pool of her own blood, so pale. Almost dead. Because of me. Because of my stupidity. I know this will haunt my nightmares, for years if I'm lucky enough to live that long. For a night or two if that's all I have left. If that's how long the Gamemakers will let us stay in this cave. If they will let us live that long. If they let us both live.

A nagging thread of doubt works its way into my brain at this thought. _If they let us both live . . ._

Then I realize that Claudius Templesmith might not have been entirely truthful about that rule change.

But I push this terrible idea to the back of my brain for now. I can worry about that later.

For now I'm hungry for the first time in days. In fact, I'm starving.

I remember that groosling that Katniss offered me and I dig it out of her backpack. I all but inhale three pieces of it before I realize it might be a while before Katniss can hunt, given the shape she's in. I'm still hungry, but I leave the food alone for now. I know I'll have to make it last.

I return my attention to Katniss. A spot of blood has already soaked its way through the cotton bandage. I sigh, worried. I have no idea what to do about this. I said before my knowledge of healing extends to stick a band-aid on it. And I think this will require a little more than a band-aid.

A rumble of thunder rolls through the cave. I look towards the entrance. Katniss has built a wall of rocks with a small hole to go in or out of. I peer out of it, and am immediately hit with one raindrop. Two. And then, almost immediately, it starts to come down in sheets.

I know from watching the Hunger Games my entire life that this is no natural storm. It is engineered and designed by the Gamemakers, just like that wall of fire was. All to make the game more interesting. Part of this must be for us. The audience most likely wants the romance thing to continue, and the best chance for that to happen is for us to stay in our cave.

At first I'm grateful, because this rain means that it will be next to impossible for Cato, Clove, Thresh and Foxface to find and hunt us. It means the Gamemakers have decided to give us some peace and focus their attention elsewhere. Perhaps this is meant to flush out one of the other tributes, force them to confront one another. With some luck, they'll kill each other off.

We're reasonably well-hidden in this cave, and there's no way I could move Katniss anyway, so there's not really much point in relocating. If there are any other tributes nearby, then our last defense is hiding. Frosting. The final defense of the dying. I let out a snort of humorless laughter.

I change Katniss's bandage again, and a drop of water hits my hand. I look up. The rain has leaked through the rocks. If it gets any worse it will start to be a steady stream of water. I still don't have the strength to move Katniss, so instead I wedge the square of plastic over the leaks to divert most of the water from falling on top of her.

The floor of the cave is a mess. I realize I should probably try to clean up as much of the blood as I can. I place the pot underneath one of the largest streams of rain water to fill it up, and toss the bloodiest bandages and the pair of bloody socks lying next to Katniss into the pot to wash them off. Then I take the rest of the bandages, not the clean, unused ones, those I save for Katniss's wound, but the ones that are not too badly soaked are up for grabs. I start to dab up the majority of the blood on the ground. It takes several wringing-outs of the cloths in the water before I've got it to where it's livable.

Then I look over the rest of Katniss, make sure that nothing else is injured. Her boots and socks are soaked. I take them off. Her feet are like ice. She must have ran through the stream on her way back from the feast to cover her tracks. I tuck them into the sleeping bag, and hope that will be enough to warm them up. She's also wearing my jacket. It, too, has blood on it. I unzip it after dabbing up the blood, unzip hers underneath as well, and am relieved to find she is uninjured. But her skin is so cold. I tuck the jackets close around her, and wrap her up in the sleeping bag. She's still so pale. I'm afraid to do anything else to her. I'd most likely just make it worse. The best I can do is keep her warm and change the bandage.

I brush the hair out of her face, guilt swallowing me. I did this. Through my stupidity in trusting her to keep her word. My fault. My fault this happened. I guess I'm just lucky she's not dead. The cut on her forehead was no accident. She got in a fight. From the clean line of the cut, I'd say it was most likely a knife that did it. And the current Hunger Games knife specialist? Clove.

I was right. Clove was gunning for her. After her because of me. I _have_ cost Katniss a whole lot of trouble. Too much trouble. I hate that she risked her neck to save mine. Not because I owe her my life, but because I know she'd risk her life for me. This should cause some sort of thrill that she cares about me that much, but it doesn't. Honestly, it scares me. I don't want her to risk her life for me. My most important goal is for her to survive, and her willing to die for me threatens that.

I hear the beginning notes of the anthem. I go to the hole in the rocks and peer outside towards the sky.

The screen is distorted somewhat by the rain, but the face of the day's dead tribute is very obvious. It's Clove.

Anthem. Seal. Gone. Just like that. I draw away from the rocks, and sit down besides Katniss. I place a hand on her hair and start absently running my fingers over it.

So. Clove is dead. It's a relief to know she won't be hunting us anymore. That she's gone for good. I wonder if Katniss killed her. That would make the most sense, given the cut over her eyebrow. But if, indeed, Katniss killed her, then we have another problem to deal with.

Cato will be hunting us. Hunting us, I know, because he will want revenge. Similar to the way I wanted revenge when I thought Katniss was dead. Not exactly the same, though. He will want payback, because due Clove's death he is now alone.

But hopefully he'll be too busy with Thresh to bother with us. That's the only thing I can do about it, is hope he'll leave us alone. And keep a watchful eye outside.

I look down at Katniss. I'll have to keep a watchful eye on her, too. She lost so much blood . . .

The feast was at dawn, and when I woke up it was evening. I can assume Katniss has been out that whole time. Based on the fact that the syringe wasn't even out of my arm, she barely got back here in time to give it to me before she passed out. So the question is, why hasn't she woken up yet?

I can understand while she was still losing blood, but it's slowed considerably. Perhaps it will just take some time. Blood takes time to regenerate, right?

I look to the medical kit for help. The only thing in there is leftover fever pills, bandages, the burn medicine, and some of those leaves Katniss used on the tracker jacker stings. The fever pills will probably do more harm than good. She's so cold already. I'll need all the bandages I can get. The leaves and burn medicine won't do me much good either. And Katniss isn't likely to wake up and tell me what to do anytime soon.

I run my finger along the edge of her bandage. Her face is so still and pale that she might be dead. My chest tightens.

_Don't think like that,_ I tell myself. _Katniss is not going to die._

By keeping my fingers over the pulse in her neck I'm able to reassure myself of this. Though it's weak, it's there, and even. Her skin is still so cold, like the warmth has been taken right out of her. I wonder if this is because of the chilly temperature or the amount of blood she lost.

Lightning flashes in the mouth of the cave followed shortly by the thunder. The storm is getting worse.

I spend a while watching Katniss for any signs of movement. When her bandage starts to get bloody again, I replace it. I open the sleeping bag, and check her feet again. There's still ice-cold. I rub them until I see some pink. Her socks are still soaked, even though I have laid them out to dry. So I take my jacket off her, careful not to jostle her too much, and wrap her feet carefully in it. Then I tuck them back into the sleeping bag, wrapping her up tightly. I rub her arms to keep her blood flowing, but it doesn't feel like I'm doing enough.

"Katniss," I whisper, leaning in and brushing her hair back. She doesn't stir. I frown, worried. I give her a soft kiss, mostly for myself, but also because I know the audience will want it. "Katniss, wake up. Please."

I knew she wouldn't, but nonetheless I'm disappointed. I leave it alone for now.

Most of the night passes like this, changing Katniss' bandage, keeping her warm, keeping watch outside. Mostly I worry a lot and spend the night fretting, waiting for Katniss to wake up. Gradually, her skin becomes warmer and some color returns to her pale skin. But her feet are still like ice.

The swelling in my leg goes down, and the more time goes by the better and stronger I feel. The pain has almost completely disappeared. Whatever Katniss shot up my arm seems to have cured me. And I realize she's going to be impossible when she wakes up, because she'll think she was right in going to the feast.

The storm doesn't let up all night. It's not so difficult to stay awake tonight as it has been before because I'm able to stay busy, but the night still seems to drag. At long last, the darkness outside turns grey.

I peer outside, and hear the birds calling to one another through the rain.

Somewhere, a mockingjay sings a four-note tune.

* * *

><p><em>An: I know, this chapter isn't very interesting. I was going to skip it entirely because Katniss is at the feast and Peeta's on the frigging moon in the book, but I'm waaaay to much of a perfectionist to skip over a chapter, so I did this instead. The most interesting part (I think) is the mockingjay thing, and I suppose I should explain it. I thought it would be cool if there was a mockingjay that remembered Rue's whistle and sang it when Cato killed Thresh. Kinda cool, right? Yeah, I know, I'm awesome, hehe :P anyway, please leave a review!~gfg  
><em>


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Peeta explains in the next chapter in the actual book that him and the Careers never went in the field that is Thresh's territory (which I had forgotten about), so, let's just pretend for the moment that I never said they went in the field, and they went in the woods instead. K? Okay, awesome. And I'll go back and change it eventually, but for now I'm sure you'd rather I type up the next chapters. ; )_

_OH, and BTW-Since I have neglected to put up a disclaimer, I DO NOT own anything to do with The Hunger Games, the books/movies/franchise/paraphernalia/anything related at all. And I don't intend to make a profit off of this story, this is just for fun :) So, yeah.  
><em>

22

I'm worried that Katniss has yet to wake up. Touches of pink have come back into her face, but she's still so pale. I kneel in front of her and place a hand on her cheek.

Her eyes start moving beneath her lids. At long last, some movement. I stroke her cheek. She leans into my touch, her breathing picking up.

"Katniss," I say, trying to bring her out of it. "Katniss, can you hear me?"

Her eyes flutter open. Relief floods through me as her grey eyes meet mine.

"Peeta," she says.

"Hey," I say, smiling in relief. "Good to see your eyes again."

"How long have I been out?"

"Not sure," I answer her. "I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood." I touch the bandage over her cut. There's not a trace of blood. "I think it's stopped finally, but I wouldn't sit up or anything."

She lifts her hands to her head and touches the bandage. Even this simple gesture is enough for what little color has returned to her pallor to fade away. I hold a bottle of water to her lips, and she drinks it thirstily.

"You're better," she says.

"Much better," I say. "Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone."

She looks slightly nervous, like she's scared I'm going to start yelling at her for running to the feast. But right now, I'm too relieved to see her alive and worried about her health to yell at her.

"Did you eat?" she asks.

"I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while. Don't worry, I'm back on a strict diet."

"No, it's good. You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon."

"Not too soon," I say, suddenly worried she'll take off before she's healed. "You just let me take care of you for a while."

She's too weak from blood loss to feed herself, so I feed her bites of the groosling and some of the raisins in between sips of water. I check on her feet again, rub some warmth back into them. I wrap my jacket back around them snugly and tuck her back into the sleeping bag.

"Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather's not helping much," I tell her. As if to emphasize this point, a bolt of thunder cracks, lighting up the cave. "I wonder what brought on this storm?" I say. "I mean, who's the target?"

"Cato and Thresh," says Katniss. "Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove…she cut me and then…"

Her voice trails off.

"I know Clove's dead," I say quietly. "I saw it in the sky last night." I desperately want an answer to this question, to know if Cato will be hunting us or not. "Did you kill her?"

"No. Thresh broke her skull with a rock."

I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Lucky he didn't catch you, too," I say.

All of a sudden she turns green and I look at her in concern.

"He did," she says. "But he let me go."

And then she tells me. About all the things she's done since she's been in the arena. About everything she's kept to herself. Her alliance with Rue. The explosion that shook the arena was her with the assistance of Rue, and, sure enough, she was the one that blew up the Career's supplies. The price for it was losing all the hearing in her left ear. And revenge. The Careers took their revenge by killing Rue. Marvel killed Rue. Katniss killed Marvel for it. And then she sang Rue to sleep and buried her in flowers. The image of tiny little Rue buried in flowers lifted up by a hovercraft sticks in my mind and makes me feel sad and angry. I remember wanting justice when I saw her face in the sky and now it returns in full force.

"I understand now," she says, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. "I understand what you said on the roof. About…"

"Shh," I say, placing my fingers over her lips and kissing her softly on the temple. By the audience and the Gamemakers and the Capitol this will be interpreted as a sweet, innocent gesture. But it's not. It's to stop her talking. She can't say on national television what I said on the roof. It would be incredibly dangerous. "You don't have to explain."

Her eyes widen slightly as she realizes her mistake, but she's smart enough to cover. She flashes a small smile.

"Thank you, Peeta."

Despite this, I'm glad she told me she understands what I was trying to say on the roof. About wanting to be more than just a piece in their Games. I wanted her so badly to understand. And now that she does, it means I'm not alone. Not alone in thinking rebellious thoughts against the Capitol.

"So, what happened next?" I ask.

"I walked away, and all the mockingjays . . . they took up my song."

This explains the singing I heard when I was by the river.

"And then they fell silent, and one chirped, like it was giving a warning call. Then the hovercraft appeared and took Rue away. One of the mockingjays landed on a branch near me. My song was too complicated for it to pick up, but it remembered Rue's four-note tune. The one that meant she was safe. The one she sang when it was time to stop work and go home."

"What did it sound like?" I ask her. She closes her eyes, and softly whistles Rue's four-note tune. And I remember that I heard it last night. Not knowing what to make of this, I don't mention it. "And then what happened?"

"Well, that's it. Well, Haymitch sent me bread. Bread from District Eleven. I remembered your lesson."

This makes me smile.

"They were thanking me for what I did for Rue, I think. And I also think that's why Thresh let me go. He was paying off a debt of sorts. He didn't want to owe me for anything."

"He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" I paraphrase in disbelief. Something about that doesn't seem to sit right. I don't quite understand why Thresh would just let her go. Especially considering how deadly an opponent Katniss is in these Games.

"Yes," says Katniss. "I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. But if you'd lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain."

"And don't try," I say, slightly stung and also feeling a bit guilty because I really _don't_ understand and I _have_ been better off than Katniss. "Obviously I'm too dim to get it."

"It's like the bread," she says. "How I never seem to get over owing you for that."

"The bread? What? From when we were kids?" I say. That I understand. I saved her life, kept her from starving. Of course she would want to pay it back. But I don't understand why she's still holding on to it. Not only was it years ago, but she's more than paid back a debt I never expected her to pay back. It was a gift. I hadn't expected anything in return. I shake my head. "I think we can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead."

"But you didn't know me," she insists. She's wrong, of course. I was utterly in love with her. I couldn't let her starve. "We had never even spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here if you hadn't helped me out then. Why did you, anyway?"

"Why? You know why." But she gives her head a slight shake. I frown. I told her. I told the whole of Panem. Apparantly she doesn't get it. Really does think it's all for the show. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing."

That's what he told me, during our interview coaching. He warned me, I guess. In his own way. That she wouldn't believe me.

"Haymitch?" she asks. "What's he got to do with it?"

"Nothing," I say. Now's not the time to try and force the conversation. She's ill, and I don't think I can handle her being fake for the cameras. Being fake myself, too, I suppose. A little. A lot. I love her, and I want her to love me, but I want it to be real. Not for the cameras. "So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?"

For whatever reason, Katniss seems upset by this comment.

"I think we would like Thresh," she says. There's an undertone of sadness in her voice. "I think he'd be our friend back in District Twelve."

"Then let's hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to," I say grimly. I understand. Because I think I feel the same way about Rue. And if Katniss says he would be our friend, I'm sure she knows what she's talking about, and I believe her. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be glad if he were out of the way.

And yet Katniss looks like she's fighting off tears. And losing. Her eyes start to pool with tears.

"What is it?" I say looking at her in concern. Why on earth is she crying? She never cries. "Are you in a lot of pain?" I ask, because this is the only reason I can think of.

She sniffs, and when she speaks it nearly breaks my heart. Her voice comes out tiny and sad, almost like a small child.

"I want to go home, Peeta."

That I can guarantee. I know she will go home.

"You will. I promise."

I bend over and give her a kiss. In this one moment of rare weakness she looks like she could use some reassurance. She will be going home. I don't know so much about myself, because I don't know how much longer the Gamemakers will allow this to continue, but I know she will be. She's not going to die here. Not now, not anytime soon. She's going to die an old lady, warm and comfortable and safe in her bed. Not in this arena.

"I want to go home now."

"Tell you what," I say comfortingly. "You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it, Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers. "Wake me up if you need me to keep watch."

"I'm good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch," I say. "Besides, who knows how long this will last?"

Pretty soon Katniss falls asleep. I wipe a stray tear from her cheek and roll it between my fingers, watching her sleep. And I realize that I might not have Katniss entirely figured out. Only days ago I thought her incapable of crying. I didn't think she would hesitate to kill me if it got in the way of her survival, yet she saved me. She risked her life for me.

The rain turns into a flat-out downpour. The square of plastic starts to fill up with water and streams of water start to come out of it. I place the pot under the worst one and reposition the plastic over Katniss. Katniss is asleep for a few hours before my stomach starts to rumble with hunger. But I'll wait until Katniss wakes up.

I make it till evening before I tell myself Katniss needs to eat. I wake her, and she's able to sit up. There's not much food left. Two pieces of groosling, a small mishmash of roots, and a handful of dried fruit.

"Should we try and ration it?" I ask.

"No, let's just finish it." She says. "The groosling's getting old anyway, and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoiled food."

She divides the food into two equal parts. We're both so hungry that it's gone in a few minutes. I'm still hungry.

"Tomorrow's a hunting day," says Katniss.

"I won't be much help with that," I say. "I've never hunted before."

"I'll kill and you cook," says Katniss, making me feel only slightly better. "And you can always gather."

"I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there," I say longingly, thinking of the fresh bread my family must be eating back home. I wonder what they think of this arrangement.

"The bread they sent me from District Eleven was still warm," says Katniss with a sigh. My mouth starts to water. "Here, chew these," she says, handing me a couple of leaves. She pops a few in her mouth and I follow suit. The taste of mint settles my stomach somewhat.

The projection in the sky is somewhat hard to see through the rain. There's only the seal, though. No deaths. So Cato hasn't caught up to Thresh yet.

"Where did Thresh go?" asks Katniss. "I mean, what's on the far side of the circle?"

"A field," I answer. "As far as you can see it's full of grasses as high as my shoulders. I don't know, maybe some of them are grain. There are patches of different colors. But there are no paths."

I feel a chill as I think about it.

"I bet some of them are grain. I bet Thresh knows which ones, too," says Katniss. That's right. District Eleven. Agriculture. I wouldn't doubt it if Thresh _did_ know how to feed himself in that field. "Did you go in there?"

"No," I answer. "Nobody really wanted to track Thresh down in that grass. It has a sinister feeling to it. Every time I look at that field, all I can think of are hidden things. Snakes, rabid animals, and quicksand," I say, remembering with dread the fear I felt glancing at that field while I was with the Careers.

Katniss is silent, looking at me, frowning. I can't read her expression.

"Maybe there is a bread bush in that field," she says. "Maybe that's why Thresh looks better fed now than when we started the Games."

Does he? That's news to me.

"Either that or he's got very generous sponsors," I say, thinking of how Haymitch hasn't sent me anything but broth and sleeping syrup, neither of which worked much to my advantage. Well, I suppose they did, but I didn't want either of them. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread."

Katniss raises her eyebrows. Then she furrows them and bites her lip. She reaches out and takes my hand.

"Well," she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. "he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out."

"Yeah, about that," I say, entwining my fingers in hers, and just being grateful she's here for me to hold her hand at all. "Don't try something like that again."

"Or what?" she says.

"Or . . . or . . ." I can't think of anything good. "Just give me a minute."

"What's the problem?" says Katniss, grinning. I frown.

"The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing."

"I did do the right thing," she says, confirming my fear. I feel a burst of anger, frustration. But mostly fear.

"No! Just don't, Katniss!" I say angrily. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?"

She looks startled, but her eyes brighten and I wonder what she's on about.

"Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think about that?" she says. No. No I didn't. For herself? She thinks this is all an act. What does she mean? "Maybe you aren't the only one who…who worries about…what it would be like if…"

She fumbles with her words. Her cheeks go red and she looks confused and scared.

"If what, Katniss?" I say softly.

Katniss looks fearful, shy. She looks like she did in the hall when I wanted her to tell me about the Avox girl. And I think I understand. Whatever she was going to say, she had planned on saying it for the cameras, but now…now she wants to shut the cameras out. Which means she feels something.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," she says evasively. But I'm not going to let her off the hook that easily. Haymitch, who was all on board for the whole star-crossed lovers thing, is most likely cursing her out right now for 'steering clear' of that topic.

I want to know how she really feels. But asking her that is impossible. Because if I express any doubt, the whole star-crossed lovers thing goes out the window. We're supposed to be madly in love. I have to act like it.

But this is more than just about the audience, and I'm determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," I say, and I kiss her.

This is the first kiss we're both fully aware of, and it's the first kiss where I feel fireworks and a warmth spread through me because of it. But what I really want to know is how Katniss feels. So when I pull away gently, I analyze her face. Her eyes are partially closed, and she leans in, flushed. A thrill runs through me. There's no doubt she wants another kiss. She looks disappointed when she doesn't get one. I want to kiss her again, but the clean white bandage on her forehead has started to spot red. So I settle for a light kiss on her nose.

"I think your wound is bleeding again," I say. "Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway."

Katniss's socks are dry enough for her to wear now, and she makes me put back on my jacket. I hadn't realized how cold it is until I put it back on. Katniss insists on taking the first watch, but now that I realize how cold it is I won't agree to this unless she stays in the sleeping bag with me. She's shivering from the cold, so she doesn't object. She crawls in with me, and her warmth and closeness immediately stops the chill. In more ways than one.

I stretch out my arm and lay her head down on it for her to use as a pillow. I rest my other over her protectively and drift off into sleep, feeling relaxed and content with Katniss safe in my arms.

But my dreams are not so content. I dream Katniss leaves the safety of our cave. I go out looking for her, calling her name in a panicked voice. She doesn't answer. I quicken to a run. And then I find her. Clove is hovering over her with a knife. Blood pours from Katniss's forehead. Clove grins evilly at me, Katniss's blood streaming down her chin.

"_A gift for you . . ._" she whispers.

Katniss wakes me, thankfully before my nightmare can get any worse.

"I can't keep my eyes open," she explains. I nod. I don't think I can get back to sleep after that nightmare anyway. "Tomorrow, when it's dry, I'll find us a place so high in the trees we can both sleep in peace," promises Katniss sleepily as she drifts off. I brush her hair back, but she's already fallen asleep.

Tomorrow, however, is not any drier. I'm so hungry that I consider going out to scavenge for food, but Katniss shoots this down, saying it would be pointless in this storm seeing as how we wouldn't be able to see three feet in front of our faces. I know she's right, but it's hard to think straight from the painful gnawing in my stomach.

Day turns into night with nothing more interesting happening than us napping and the thunder shaking the floor of the cave.

"Peeta," says Katniss lightly. I open up my eyes, waking up from the doze I'd drifted into to look at her. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"

I grin. I've been hoping she'd ask me this.

"Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five."

I smile as I let memory wash over me.

"You had on a red plaid dress and your hair…it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up."

"Your father?" asks Katniss. "Why?"

"He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" I say.

"What? You're making that up!" Katniss exclaims.

"No, true story," I say. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she couldn't had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen.'"

"That's true," says Katniss, looking stunned and moved. "They do. I mean, they did."

"So that day, in music assembly," I say, continuing my story. "The teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent."

She laughs. "Oh, please."

"No, it happened," I say, warmth flooding through me at the memory and her disbelief. I grin happily. "And right when your song ended, I knew—just like your mother—I was a goner. Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you."

"Without success," adds Katniss.

"Without success," I agree. "So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck."

In more ways than one.

Katniss starts to smile, but then almost immediately looks confused.

"You have a…remarkable memory," she says haltingly. And I understand the double meaning. She's asking if I mean what I say.

"I remember everything about you," I say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now," she says. A thrill runs through me. And it's my turn to wonder if this is for the cameras.

"Well, I don't have much competition here," I say. Stupid thing to say. I've mentioned Gale. But she doesn't even seem to notice. She looks shy again. She swallows.

"You don't have much competition anywhere," she says, and kisses me. My heart is soaring at the words. The best thing, I think, that has ever happened to me. She does mean it. She _does_ feel something!

Our lips have just barely touched before there's a clunk outside that makes us jump. Katniss swings her bow up, arrow ready to fly, but that was it. I peer through the rocks, expecting Cato, Thresh, Foxface . . . a knife, a spear in my face . . . but instead what I see is a silver parachute.

I give a whoop. I scramble through the hole in the rocks and pick up the basket, which even through the rain I can smell the fresh bread and food. I pass it through the hole to Katniss and wriggle back through the rocks. And my nose is confirmed by my eyes. In front of Katniss lies a feast. Fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and lamb stew. The dish Katniss told Ceaser Flickerman was the most impressive thing the capitol had to offer. I beam at her.

"I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve," I say happily.

"I guess so," answers Katniss, smiling at my enthusiasm.


	16. Chapter 16

23

The food looks and smells so delicious and the only thing keeping me from gulping it all down in one bite is the memory of such rich capitol food making me sick.

"We better take it slow on that stew," I say, because Katniss looks like she's about to do exactly what I wanted to do. "Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then."

"You're right," says Katniss regretfully. "And I could just inhale the whole thing!"

We don't, though. We are both quite sensible and each eat only a roll, half an apple, and an egg-sized serving of stew and rice.

"I want more," says Katniss when we've finished, echoing my thoughts.

"Me, too," I say. "Tell you what. We wait half an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving."

"Agreed," says Katniss. "It's going to be a long hour."

"Maybe not that long," I say. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me…no competition…best thing that ever happened to you…"

"I don't remember that last part," says Katniss, her blush all too obvious.

"Oh, that's right," I say. "That's what _I_ was thinking. Scoot over, I'm freezing."

She does, and we lean back against the cave wall. She rests her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her, feeling happier than I've felt in a long time.

"So, since you were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" Katniss asks me.

"No," I say, smiling contentedly. "I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you."

"I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam."

My father wouldn't mind so much, as it's Katniss. My mother is probably fuming over the whole thing right now. The thought makes me grin.

"Hardly," I answer. "But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village."

"But then," says Katniss in horror. "Our only neighbor will be Haymtich!"

The image of Haymitch coming round for tea and dinner makes me laugh.

"Ah, that'll be nice," I say, grinning and tightening my arms around Katniss. "You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales."

…and he'd probably be drunk at every one.

"I told you, he hates me!" says Katniss. But she starts to laugh in spite of herself.

"Only sometimes," I continue. "When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you."

"He's never sober!" protests Katniss. She's got a point there.

"That's right. Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you," I correct. "But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire." Katniss laughs. "On the other hand, Haymitch…well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you."

"I thought you said I was his favorite."

"He hates me more," I say, grinning though it's definitely the truth. Then a thought hits me. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing."

Katniss is quiet, and the grin slowly fades off her face to be replaced by a pondering look.

"How do you think he did it?"

"Who? Did what?" I ask.

"Haymitch," she answers. "How do you think he won the Games?"

I consider this for a while. I'd never really thought about it. How _did _Haymitch win his Games? He's sturdily built, but he's not a physical wonder. He's not particularly good-looking, though I'm sure that he might have been once, before he became a drunk, so sponsors wouldn't have rained gifts down on him. He's not even particularly likable. He's surly, like Katniss, and it takes a certain type of person to team up with someone like those two. There's only one way Haymitch could have won his Games, and I know he's capable from what I've seen of him so far. He's clever.

"He outsmarted the others," I say. Katniss nods, and I know she's already reached that conclusion. She drops the conversation.

About half an hour passes before Katniss declares she is hungry again, and I can't put up much of an argument against this because I'm still so hungry myself. Katniss is dishing out two more small servings of lamb stew when the anthem plays. I look out a crack in the rocks to watch the sky.

"There won't be anything to see tonight," says Katniss behind me, clearly unconcerned. But she should be. And I know she's not going to like it when I tell her who's face is in the sky tonight. "Nothing's happened or we would've heard a cannon."

"Katniss," I say quietly, wondering how to break this news to her. She started crying last time I mentioned anything to do with Thresh's death. How will she react now that he _is_ dead?

"What?" she says. "Should we split another roll, too?"

"Katniss," I repeat. She must get the hint now, but she continues to ignore it.

"I'm going to split one. But I'll save the cheese for tomorrow."

I turn around to look at Katniss anxiously.

"What?" she says

"Thresh is dead," I say. That came out more abruptly than I would have liked.

"He can't be," she rejects, the trademark Katniss scowl appearing on her face again.

"They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," I say.

"Are you sure?" says Katniss. Once again, she is avoiding the truth. Like my brothers and my mother. "I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything."

She pushes me out of the way to peer out the rocks herself. She seems to freeze in shock. Then she slumps down against the rocks, her expression sad and confused.

"You alright?" I ask worriedly. She gives a noncommittal shrug and cups her elbows in her hands, hugging them close to her body. This death has obviously affected her. Though I still don't understand why, I respect that enough to not press it. She hasn't so far been the type to show this kind of weakness in front of the cameras, but I think it might have something to do with that she doesn't want anyone else to die. It's starting to dawn on her, I think, just how unfair the Games are. I feel the same way. But this is not the kind of thing that will help get us out of here and back to Twelve.

"It's just . . ." she says after a while. "…If we didn't win…I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue."

"Yeah, I know. But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve," I say, partially to remind her we _are_ still on camera and this _is_ the Hunger Games and if we want to go home, then everyone else has to die. I don't like it and I know she doesn't like it. But it's what has to be done to keep her safe. That's what I have to keep telling myself, anyway.

I nudge a plate of food into her hands. "Eat. It's still warm."

She takes a bite, though seems to have some trouble swallowing it.

"It also means Cato will be back hunting us," she says.

"And he's got supplies again," I say.

"He'll be wounded, I bet," says Katniss.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because Thresh would have never gone down without a fight. He's so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory."

"Good," I say, thinking of Cato's viciousness and how he will want more than anything to find us now so he can go home. We're the obvious next target. Foxface is too elusive. "The more wounded Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is making out."

"Oh, she's fine," says Katniss irritably. She obviously doesn't care quite so much for Foxface as she did for Thresh. "Probably be much easier to catch Cato than her."

"Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," I say hopefully. "But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times."

"Me, too," admits Katniss. "But not tonight."

We finish our food and I offer to take the first watch. Katniss burrows down in the sleeping bag next to me. She curls up at my side and pulls her hood up over her face for a few minutes. Then she lets it go, and drifts off into sleep. I watch her and the outside carefully tonight. The moon is high in the sky when my stomach starts growling again. I try to hold off until Katniss wakes up, but it's a losing battle, and I give in. I spread the goat cheese on a roll put slices of apple on top. I split it in half, saving one for Katniss and eating the other half. With a little imagination, it tastes just like a goat cheese and apple tart.

I feel guilty for eating without her, so I wake Katniss up and hold out her half.

"Don't be mad," I say. "I had to eat again. Here's your half."

"Oh, good," she says, taking a huge bite and making an "mm" noise. One of a baker's favorite sounds.

"We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," I tell her.

"Bet that's expensive," she says.

"Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," I say sleepily, pulling the sleeping bag up around me. Katniss doesn't say anything, and I'm so tired it's not long before I fall asleep.

My dreams are confused and blurry. The theme, however, seems to be losing Katniss. As it is every time I close my eyes of late. When Katniss shakes me awake near morning I'm so happy to see her alive that I pull her down for a long kiss. It effectively erases my fears, and makes me incredibly happy.

"We're wasting hunting time," says Katniss when she finally breaks away. That's when I notice it's stopped raining. At last.

"I wouldn't call it wasting," I say, stretching as I sit up and grin at her. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?"

"Not us," says Katniss. "We stuff ourselves to give us staying power."

"Count me in," I say eagerly as my stomach rumbles. I'm slightly surprised, however, when she divides up the rest of the stew and rice. She hands a heaping plate to me. "All this?" I ask.

"We'll earn it back today," says Katniss. We both plow through our plates. Even cold it's delicious. Katniss abandons her fork and scrapes up the last dabs of gravy with her fingers. "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners," she says. I grin.

"Hey Effie, watch this!" I say. I toss my fork over my shoulder and lick my plate clean with my tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. No doubt Effie's having a fit back at the Capitol. I blow a kiss out to her. "We miss you, Effie!" I call out.

Katniss covers my mouth frantically, but she's laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave."

"What do I care?" I say after pulling her hand away. I pull her closer to me. "I've got you to protect me now."

"Come on," says Katniss in exasperation, making me grin. She pulls herself away from me but not before I get another kiss.

We pack up, and as soon as we're standing outside our caves our moods shifts to serious. It's as if the last few days, sheltered by the rain and the cave and Cato's preoccupation with Thresh we've been given a respite, almost a holiday. Now, it feels like we're really back in the Games. Katniss gives me her knife, and I feel better for having a weapon in my hand.

"He'll be hunting us by now," I say. "Cato isn't one to wait for his prey to wander by."

"If he's wounded—" begins Katniss. I shake my head.

"It won't matter," I break in. "If he can move, he's coming."

It's true. He will come for us. Foxface never challenged his authority. Foxface never lied to him and pretended an alliance. No, he'll be coming for us. He'll be hunting us. So I'll keep an extra-careful watch around us today.

The rain has overrun the stream. We stop to replenish our water supplies, and Katniss checks snares she set a few days ago that come up empty. She doesn't seem surprised by this.

"If we want food," she says, "we better head back up to my old hunting grounds."

"Your call," I say. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

"Keep an eye out," she says. Duh. I was doing that anyway. "Stay on the rocks as much as possible, no sense in leaving him tracks to follow. And listen for both of us."

As we head up the stream we pass the place I camouflaged myself. Any sign I'd been there is gone completely, washed away by the rain. Katniss looks happy about this.

The boulders turn into rocks the longer we walk and then eventually into pebbles. And before I know it we're back on pine needles and the gentle incline of the forest floor. Katniss tenses, and then whips around to look at me, looking annoyed.

"What?" I say.

"You've got to move more quietly," she says, a trace of irritation in her voice. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius."

"Really?" I say, slightly surprised. I hadn't noticed I was being loud. "Sorry, I didn't know."

I try to tread a bit more lightly, but Katniss doesn't seem satisfied by this either.

"Can you take your boots off?" she suggests.

Take my boots off? Go barefoot? On pine needles and sticks, where there's probably spiders and bugs and snakes hidden beneath the leaves? Is she nuts?

"Here?" I say in disbelief. She looks very much like she's biting her tongue to stop herself saying some irritable things at me.

"Yes," she says patiently, slightly patronizingly. "I will, too. That way we'll both be quieter."

After several hours of trying and failing to imitate Katniss's silent footsteps and not encountering any animal at all it's clear I'm the one that's chasing them away. We stop to rest and drink water, and Katniss is silent, thinking. What she needs is to hunt by herself and not have me tagging along chasing away game, but I have a feeling that she won't go for splitting up, not after all she did to bring us together.

"Katniss," I say. "We need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game."

"Only because your leg's hurt," says Katniss generously.

"I know," I say, even though I know it's more than just my leg being hurt. It's years of being a baker and not a hunter. "So why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful."

"Not if Cato comes and kills you," she says, trying to sound nice, but it comes out like she doesn't think I can handle myself. Far from injuring my ego, this strikes me as funny.

"Look, I can handle Cato," I say, laughing. "I fought him before, didn't I?"

"What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" says Katniss. She tries to make it sound like an important job, but I'm not that easily fooled.

"What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" I say, mimicking her tone. "Just don't go far, in case you need help."

She sighs, giving in. She shows me some roots to dig, and teaches me a simple bird whistle I pick up easily to communicate we're all right. She leaves me with the pack and goes off to hunt. I dig around for the roots, and lay them on a sheet of plastic, whistling occasionally and feeling reassured when I hear the whistle back. After I feel like I've gotten enough of those, I spot some berries that look like the ones Katniss gathered and gather some myself, laying them on the sheet of plastic. I leave them and the pack there and meander down to the stream to gather more.

I start to head back when I hear my name.

"Peeta!" calls a panicked voice. Katniss. I start to run. "Peeta!" I tear through a bush and nearly get an arrow through the eye. It whistles past me and buries itself in an oak tree to my left. I jump back, and the berries fly out of my hand.

"What are you doing?" cries Katniss angrily. "You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!"

"I found some berries down by the stream," I say, confused. Why's she angry at _me?_ She's the one that nearly sent an arrow through me!

"I whistled," she snaps at me. "Why didn't you whistle back?"

"I didn't hear. The water's too loud, I guess," I say. That's when I notice there's more than anger in her eyes. There's fear. I cross to her and put my hands on her shoulders. She's trembling.

"I thought Cato killed you!" she almost shouts.

"No, I'm fine," I reassure, and wrap my arms around her. She doesn't respond. "Katniss?"

She pushes me away, puts a hand to her bandage. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?"

"All right!" I say, annoyed she's patronizing me.

"All right. Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!"

She turns away from me, goes to the pack and opens a fresh bottle of water. If I had any idea how me wandering off would have affected her, I wouldn't have done it.

"And you ate without me!" she bursts out.

"What? No, I didn't," I say.

"Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese," says Katniss.

"I don't know what ate the cheese," I say, trying not to get short with her. "But it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?"

She walks over and looks at the berries. She leans down and scoops up a few, rolling them between her fingers. Her eyebrows contract.

And then the cannon fires.

Cato.

Katniss whips around to look at me, her eyes full of that fear, the kind reserved only for when she thinks I'm going to die. I raise my eyebrows at her.

Then the hovercraft appears about a hundred yards or so away. Foxface is lifted into the air. Cato's come for us. He's found Foxface and killed her.

I grab Katniss by the arm, push her towards a tree.

"Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above."

But she stops me, surprisingly calm. "No, Peeta," she says, "she's your kill, not Cato's."

"What?" I say, confused. "I haven't seen her since the first day. How could I have killed her?"

In answer, she holds out the berries.


	17. Chapter 17

24

It takes a while for Katniss to explain to me what's going on. How Foxface had been stealing food from the Career's supply pile before Katniss blew it up, how she had tried to take enough to stay alive but not enough that anyone would notice. And how she wouldn't question the safety of the berries we were planning to eat ourselves.

"I wonder how she found us," I say, feeling cold on the inside to thinking how close I had come to killing us both. "My fault, I guess, it I'm as loud as you say."

"And she's very clever, Peeta," she says kindly. "Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her."

"Not on purpose," I say. "Doesn't seem fair somehow. I mean, we would have both been dead, too, if she hadn't eaten the berries first." Then I remember that look of fear on Katniss's face, and check myself. "No, of course, we wouldn't. You recognized them, didn't you?"

Katniss nods. "We call them nightlock."

_Nightlock_.

"Even the name sounds deadly," I say my thoughts out loud. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I really thought they were the same ones you'd gathered."

"Don't apologize," says Katniss. "It just means we're one step closer to home, right?"

Right. Because that's how I've been justifying all these deaths, anyway. Why do I feel guilty?

"I'll get rid of the rest," I say, anxious to get these berries far away from where either of us might accidently eat them. I'm careful to trap them all in the plastic to go toss them in the woods.

"Wait!" cries Katniss. She rummages in the packs and pulls out a leather pouch that I think belonged to Marvel. She fills it with a few handfuls of the berries. "If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well," she explains. "If he's chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them—"

"Then hello District Twelve," I finish.

"That's it," says Katniss, securing the pouch to her belt.

"He'll know where we are now," I say. "If he was anywhere nearby and saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and come after us."

"Let's make a fire. Right now," says Katniss, taking me by surprise. She starts to gather branches and brush.

"Are you ready to face him?" I ask.

"I'm ready to eat," says Katniss. "Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we're here, he knows. But he also knows there's two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Foxface. That means you're recovered. And the fire means we're not hiding, we're inviting him here. Would you show up?"

"Maybe not," I say, realizing she's right.

I'm pretty handy with fires. It'd be kind of hard _not_ to be a whiz with fires when you've grown up in a bakery. I'm able to coax a blaze out of the damp wood, sending smoke up in the air. Katniss gets the rabbits and squirrel roasting, and the roots wrapped in leaves and baking in the coals. We take turns gathering greens and watch for Cato, but Katniss was right. He doesn't show, either because he's nowhere near us or because he's afraid to show. When the food's finished cooking, Katniss packs most of it up, but leaves us each a rabbit's leg to eat as we walk. The hot meat quickly fills my stomach.

Katniss wants to move higher in the woods, and make camp high in the branches of a good tree. But the prospect of climbing a tree is daunting to me, especially considering the fact that my leg is not yet fully healed.

"I can't climb like you, Katniss," I say, "especially with my leg, and I don't think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet above the ground."

"It's not safe to stay in the open, Peeta," says Katniss.

"Can't we go back to the cave?" I say. "It's near water and easy to defend."

She sighs, and looks like she's about to say _no_,. I get ready to give her a dozen more reasons why we should, but I find it's not necessary. She reaches up and gives me a kiss.

"Sure. Let's go back to the cave."

"Well, that was easy," I comment, pleased and relieved.

Katniss retrieves her arrow out of the tree, and we throw a bunch more wood on the fire, keeping it going for several more hours to throw Cato off the scent. When we reach the stream Katniss has us walk in the water and since it's down a lot from this morning and the currents not so strong, it's easier for me to walk in it. Katniss keeps her bow loaded, and the trek is tiring. We're both still underfed and exhausted from everything we've done today.

By the time we get back to the cave our feet are dragging and the sun is setting. We fill up our water bottles and climb back up to the cave. It's the closest I've felt to coming home. Katniss sets out dinner. I get about halfway through my food before I begin to drift off. Katniss orders me to the sleeping bag, which I'm all too happy to obey.

I drop off almost immediately, but not before Katniss pulls the sleeping bag up to my chin and gives me a kiss on the forehead. I smile before I fall asleep.

When Katniss wakes me up I know I've slept much too long. A soft grey light filters through the cave when I look out.

"I slept the whole night," I comment, frowning. "That's not fair, Katniss, you should have woken me."

She stretches and curls up in the sleeping bag. "I'll sleep now. Wake me if anything interesting happens."

Nothing does happen at all, and it bothers me slightly. Not knowing what Cato is up to is unnerving. It's like spotting a spider in your bed and when you look around again it's gone. You know it's in the bed somewhere, and it's scary not knowing where.

Katniss sleeps into the afternoon.

"Any sign of our friend?" is the first thing she asks. I shake my head.

"No, he's keeping a disturbingly low profile."

"How long do you think we'll have before the Gamemakers drive us together?" asks Katniss.

"Well," I say, contemplating this. "Foxface died almost a day ago, so there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. I guess it could happen at any moment."

"Yeah," agrees Katniss. "I have a feeling today's the day." She sits up and looks out at the deceptively peaceful scenery. "I wonder how they'll do it," she asks, though it's a rhetorical question. There's no way of knowing how they will drive us together.

"Well, until they do, no sense in wasting a hunting day," says Katniss. "But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble."

I pack up the gear while Katniss lays out a big meal. We eat everything but the squirrel and the last apple.

Leaving the cave has a sense of finality about it. I get the feeling this will be the last time I will ever see it. This will be the last night in the arena. I know it will be. We'll both be going home. One way or another. Katniss will most definitely be the one alive. If Claudius Templesmith lied, then I'll be going home in a wooden box.

The stream is completely dried up when we arrive. Katniss kneels down and puts her hands to the dry bed.

"Not even a little damp," she says. "They must have drained it while we slept."

"The lake," I say, my suspicions and fears confirmed. So this is how they plan on driving us into a confrontation. "That's where they want us to go."

"Maybe the ponds still have some," says Katniss hopefully.

"We can check," I say, humoring her. Because I know the ponds will be as dry as the stream. We make the trip to the pond where the Careers and I first found Katniss and drove her up a tree. Sure enough, it's as dry as a bone.

"You're right. They're driving us to the lake," says Katniss. "Do you want to go straightaway or wait until the water's tapped out?"

"Let's go now, while we've had food and rest," I say. "Let's just go end this thing."

Because I want to go home as much as she does. And to do that, we have to confront Cato. Cato, who's had it out for Katniss since she scored higher than him in training. Cato, who desperately wants me dead for betraying him. Cato, who almost killed me and would kill us both without hesitation.

Katniss nods, a faraway expression on her face. I wrap my arms around her.

"Two against one. Should be a piece of cake," I say.

"Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol," she says.

"You bet it will," I confirm.

We stand there a while, holding each other in an embrace. A moment of peace. The calm before the storm. And possibly the last time I might get to hold her before this is all over. Then without a word we break apart and start the trek to the lake.

We walk for a while, hand in hand, as though this were a leisurely stroll through the woods, and not a possible funeral march.

We stop to rest under the tree where the Careers and myself trapped Katniss. Katniss nudges the husk of the tracker jacker nest with the tip of her boot, and it dissolves into dust.

"Let's move on," she says quietly. I don't object.

It's evening when we reach the plain. Cato is nowhere to be seen. The only thing to see is the gold Cornucopia glowing in the sun. We circle the Cornucopia to make sure that Cato isn't hiding in there, like, Katniss tells me, Foxface had before the feast. But it's empty. Obediently, as if following instructions, we cross to the lake and fill our water containers.

"We don't want to fight him after dark," says Katniss, squinting at the slowly lowering sun. "There's only the one pair of glasses."

"Maybe that's what he's waiting for," I say, squeezing the appropriate amount of iodine in the water. After drinking unpurified water at the stream, I decided it was an experience I never wanted to repeat. I look at Katniss. "What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?"

"Either that or find a tree," answers Katniss, frowning. "But let's give him another half an hour or so. Then we'll take cover."

We sit by the lake, in plain sight, waiting for Cato.

And then Katniss starts to sing to the mockingjays.

As I expected, the mockingjays fall silent, listening for more. Katniss repeats the four-note tune. Then one mockijay trills the notes back, then another. And another, and the whole world comes alive with Katniss's music.

"Just like your father," I comment, watching her. Her fingers slide to the mockingjay pin on her shirt.

"That's Rue's song," she says softly. "I think they remember it."

But I know it's Katniss's singing that has brought the mockingjays to one beautiful song, not Rue. The music swells, and Katniss closes her eyes, listening. I find myself transfixed watching her, listening to the mockingjays. It's like I'm five years old again, listening to Katniss sing while the birds fall silent and listen as well.

I don't even notice when disruptions start in the music. But it would be hard for even me to miss when the bird's call turns from music to a shrieking cry of alarm.

We're on our feet quickly, Katniss poised to shoot, me wielding my knife, and Cato smashes through the trees and bears down on us. His arsenal of weapons has disappeared. His hands are empty. And yet he runs straight towards us anyway. Katniss shoots, but the arrow bounces off his chest.

"He's got some kind of body armor!" Katniss shouts to me.

She's kind of stated the obvious, but I'm in no position to criticize. Cato is upon us. I raise my knife, ready to aim for the parts of him that are not covered by armor, but he rockets between us, completely ignoring the both of us. He's panting, sweat is pouring off his face, and I can tell he's been running a long time. But not to us. From something. But what could he be running from? Some Gamemaker-engineered trap? More fire?

But it turns out it's neither. It's worse. It's much, much worse.

Overlarge, furry creatures bound through the woods and leap onto the plain, snarling their teeth and murder in their eyes. Eyes that seem much too familiar.

Katniss takes off about a second before I gather my wits enough to turn and stumble after her.


	18. Chapter 18

25

Muttations. No question that that is what they are. These far from friendly creatures that resemble large wolves. But these are no wolves. Because what wolf acts like a human so accurately? What wolf can balance and jump on its back paws? Can wave the others on like it has a wrist, like a human?

Katniss and Cato have both made a beeline for the Cornucopia. Cato gets there first. Katniss is about twenty yards behind him, and outstripping me. The yards between us grow and my leg starts to burn. I can hear the mutts panting and growling behind me. Katniss has reached the Cornucopia when she turns and fires an arrow into the pack. I hear the sharp cry as the thing goes down, but one death hardly makes a difference in a pack this big.

Her eyes are wide. I wave her on. She has to get on that horn, even if it is with Cato.

"Go, Katniss!" I yell at her. "Go!"

She recognizes that I'm right, and starts climbing up the Cornucopia. I sprint after her, only the thought of imminent death keeping my on my feet. I reach the tail of the Cornucopia, and the mutts are literally on my heels. I can feel their hot breath on my ankles.

"Climb!" I hear Katniss yell. I do as she says, placing my hands on the Cornucopia. The metal is so hot it blisters my skin. Somehow I manage to hang on and keep climbing. But my leg has started to shake, and I'm losing control over it. The knife in my hand slows me down, but I cling to it, because it's the only weapon I have. I hear an arrow whiz past me and another mutt goes down.

I reach Katniss's feet and she grabs my arm, tugging me up. When I'm firmly on the golden horn, Katniss whips around to look at Cato, but he's more preoccupied with the mutts and catching his breath than killing us right now. He coughs, and I can just barely make out what he says.

"What?" Katniss shouts at him. But Cato can barely breathe let alone answer her.

"He said, 'Can they climb it?'" I answer her. I turn to look back at the base of the horn, wondering and fearing that they might actually be able to do what a regular wolf cannot. _Can they climb?_

The mutts have begun to assemble. They join together and raise up to easily stand on their back legs. They put their snouts to the horn, sniffing and tasting the metal, pawing and scraping the surface. Their fur ranges from jet black to blonde. And their eyes . . . their eyes are unmistakably human.

They make high-pitched yipping sounds to one another. The pack backs up to make room for a good-sized mutt who's fur is a glossy blonde color. It backs up, takes a running jump. It lands a mere ten feet below us.

And then Katniss shrieks in alarm.

Even though it's clear the mutt cannot climb, Katniss shoots it through the throat. I grip her arm, worried she's losing it.

"Katniss?" I say questioningly.

"It's her!" she gasps out.

"Who?" I ask. But she doesn't answer. She looks around at the mutts in horror, and it's clear she's caught something I have missed. "What is it, Katniss?" I say, shaking her shoulder.

"It's them," she chokes out. "It's all of them. The others. Rue and Foxface and…all of the other tributes."

I gasp in horror as the truth hits me. It _is _them. The dark haired one with a number _2_ on its rough leather collar—Clove. The sandy haired mutt with a collar made of pine needles, the girl from 8 that Cato killed and I held the hand of while she died. The mutt with the muddy brown fur. I feel a chill as I read the number _5_ on his collar. The boy I killed. His wide blue eyes glare up at me just as accusingly as they did when my knife entered his throat.

"What did they do to them?" I exclaim in horror. "You don't think…those could be their real eyes?"

Before Katniss can say anything to confirm or deny this the mutts begin a new assault on the horn. They've split into two groups, and are launching themselves at the horn. And that's when I feel the second-worst pain I've felt in my life.

One of the mutts has clamped its teeth around my already injured leg. It rips through skin and muscle with its sharp fangs. It starts to drag me down with it and the only thing keeping me on the Cornucopia is my grip on Katniss's arm. She grabs my arm with her free hand, hangs onto me with all her strength, but my weight and the weight of the mutt are soon going to be too much for her to handle.

"Kill it, Peeta! Kill it!" shrieks Katniss. The knife is in my hand, and I bring it down, stab the thing in the neck. And then I see the life go out of those wide blue eyes a second time, see the blood spatter the muddy brown hair. I've killed the poor boy from District Five twice.

It releases me, but the pain in my leg does not subside. Katniss hauls me back up. I clutch my hand to the wound in my leg, hoping to stop the bleeding, but it's much too bad for that to work. I'm trembling, either from the pain or the shock of killing the boy from 5 or the fear of Cato and the mutts surrounding us, I don't know. We drag ourselves back to the top where Cato awaits. He still has not fully recovered, but he will soon, and we have only to wait for him to push us over the sides to our deaths.

Katniss arms her bow, but she shoots a mutt instead of Cato. We're finally up above the mutt line. And then an arm wraps around my throat, cutting off my circulation and blocking my windpipe. Cato's going to kill me the same way I was going to kill him. Suffocation.

Either that or I'll bleed to death.

I claw at his arm weakly as my calf gushes blood. I can't breathe. I can't fight him off. And I'm going to bleed to death soon anyway, no matter how much I try to staunch the bleeding. I might as well be already dead. Cato seems to realize this, and I hear his growling laugh grow in my ear.

But Katniss is here to rescue me, unlike before. She aims her second to last arrow at Cato's head, the only part not covered by his armor. But Cato just laughs even harder at this. The joke is lost on me.

"Shoot me and he goes down with me," he says.

Well, there it is. I really am dead now.

But Katniss doesn't shoot. She knows he's right, and she doesn't want to lose me. And I'm desperately hoping I won't die this way, stuck in a stalemate. Blood is pounding in my head and my throat starts to close up. My head feels light. My body starts to go numb. I've almost given up when I notice something.

Cato's face isn't the only part of his body not covered by the armor. The hand holding me up is bare. Which means that I'm not going to die. If I can communicate this to Katniss.

I let go of my calf, raise my finger dripping with my own blood to Cato's bare hand, and make a deliberate _X_ on the back of his hand with my finger. The blood on my hands leaves the symbol drawn there. And Katniss realizes what I mean for her to do a second before Cato does. And she fires.

Cato reflexively releases me, crying out in pain, and I'm slammed back against him. He staggers, and we both slip on the blood-slick horn. We both would have flown over and died in that moment, but the difference between myself and Cato, and what saves me and does not save him, is that I have an ally.

Katniss dives forward, grabs my arm, drags me back up. We hold onto each other tightly, waiting for the cannon, waiting for this to end, waiting to be taken back home. But there is no cannon, and this is not over. Not yet. Because this is the climax of the Hunger Games, and the audience expects a show.

I can't watch what happens to Cato. The snarls and growls and howls of pain from both human and mutt are too much as is. Cato fights the pack. His body armor is protecting him from the sharp teeth of the mutts. He also must have a sword of a knife, something metal, because I can also hear the death scream of a mutt and the clash of metal on metal as it collides against the golden horn. Cato tries to move around the side of the horn, doubtlessly to try and climb the tail of the Cornucopia and rejoin us on top. But Cato, for all his strength and skill, cannot overcome the mutt pack. There's too many of them. He is simply overpowered.

Cato fights for over an hour before he finally loses. He hits the ground and I hear the mutts drag him off, back into the Cornucopia to finish him off. We wait for it, but there is still no cannon, only the agonized screams of the boy below us. Night falls and the anthem plays and Cato's picture does not appear in the sky. What a horrible way to die.

But I'm not much better off. My leg is still bleeding when Katniss turns her attention to it. She has no medical supplies to help with this. The air is icy, and I'm already shivering, not just from loss of blood but from the cold, but Katniss takes off her jacket. I catch the goosebumps on her skin as she whips her shirt off and hurriedly puts her jacket back on.

Katniss makes me lie down before she probes my wound. She cuts off a sleeve of her shirt and wraps it around my leg just below the knee. She sticks an arrow through the knot and starts to twist it up tightly in a tourniquet. My leg starts to go numb. She ties the arrow off and bandages the wound in the rest of her shirt, then lies down with me.

"Don't go to sleep," she tells me through chattering teeth.

"Are you cold?" I ask. Then, without waiting for the obvious answer I unzip my jacket. She presses herself against me and I fasten it around us both. It's lucky we're both so starved and thin, or we never would have fit. It's warmer inside the jackets with our shared body heat, but the night will only grow colder. Katniss seems to have reached the same conclusion I have.

"Cato may win this thing yet," she whispers to me. Though I agree with her, we can't be thinking like that, or he will.

"Don't you believe it," I tell her. I pull up her hood. I'm shaking worse than she is, though. It's so cold.

The worst thing about the next couple hours is not the cold, however. The real nightmare is listening to Cato, moaning, begging, and finally whimpering as the mutts work away at him. It's horrible. It just want his suffering to end, I don't care what he's done. But the Hunger Games don't work that way. From the Gamemaker's perspective, this is the final word in entertainment. Nobody could tear their eyes away from the show now.

"Why don't they just kill him?" Katniss asks me.

"You know why," I tell her. I pull her closer to me.

Cato's suffering goes on and on through the night. It's too horrible to listen to and all I want to do is shut him out, shut out the agonizing moans of pain echoing through the metal below us. And all I want is for Cato to die already. But he doesn't. This won't end. It seems like it never will.

It's so difficult to stay awake. As hard as I fight it I start to doze. Each time I do Katniss wakes me up, yelling my name louder and louder. I fight to stay awake for her, even though I want to escape into unconsciousness, the only way left to block out Cato. But Katniss is probably afraid I'll die if I go to sleep now. And I don't really want to go out that way. I don't want her to have to live with me going out that way. Not when we both can make it home.

The only way to tell the passage of time is the moon. So I point it out to Katniss, who is so trapped in Cato's dying moans. I insist she acknowledge its progress across the sky and every time I do hope flickers in her eyes a moment before they go dull again, trapped in the agony of the night.

Finally, at long last, the blackness starts to lighten. The cold darkness of night starts to lift.

"The sun is rising," I whisper to her. She looks up, opens her eyes. When she looks at me I know how pale I must look because she looks so worried. And I also know I don't have much time left. I know because I've felt it before, and it's crawling on me now. Death. My only hope lies in getting back to the Capitol.

But no cannon has fired, and Cato is not yet dead. Katniss presses her good ear to the horn, and all that registers is that I want to go home.

"I think he's closer now," I say. "Katniss, can you shoot him?"

_I want to go home._ Killing Cato now would be an act of mercy, and I just want to go home.

"My last arrow's in your tourniquet," she says.

"Make it count," I tell her, and unzip my jacket, setting her free.

Katniss takes the arrow out of my tourniquet, ties it back as tightly as she can manage with frozen fingers. I crawl behind her to the lip of the horn and hold onto her tightly for support as she hangs over the edge. It takes a moment, but then I hear the _twang_ of the bowstring as she fires, and I help her back up.

"Did you get him?" I whisper to her.

The cannon fires in answer.

"Then we won, Katniss," I say hollowly, too tired and numb to feel any sense of joy.

"Hurray for us," she says, but there's no joy of victory in her voice, either.

A hole opens up in the pain and the remaining mutts bound into it, disappear into the earth as it closes above them.

We wait, wait for the hovercraft to take up Cato's remains, for the victory trumpets, but there's nothing. Nothing happens.

"Hey!" shouts Katniss into the air. "What's going on?"

"Maybe it's the body," I say. "Maybe we have to move away from it."

"Okay," she says. "Think you could make it to the lake?"

"Think I better try," I say. We inch down the tail of the horn and fall to the ground. Moving is next to impossible for me. My wound has opened back up, but the numbness of it being in a tourniquet all night has dulled the pain. Katniss rises first, regains some movement in her limbs, then helps me up, half-carries me back to the lake. She scoops up a handful of cold water and brings it to my lips and then a second for herself.

A mockingjay gives a long low whistle, and the hovercraft appears and takes Cato's body away. Relief fills me. Now we can go home.

But still, there is no response. That nagging hint of doubt works its way back into my brain.

"What are they waiting for?" I say weakly.

"I don't know," says Katniss. She gets up to find a stick for my wound and comes across the arrow that Cato's armor deflected. As she stoops to pick it up, Claudius Templesmith's voice booms down into the arena, and that doubt fills my brain along with a whine of panic.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

And there it is. Just like that, my death sentence. There's static and nothing more. We stare at each other in disbelief.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," I say softly. It's not, really. It's not at all. I half-expected it the moment I heard Claudius Templesmith's voice.

I stand painfully, hobbling on my leg toward Katniss, drawing my knife. Without thinking twice, I throw it into the lake.

Katniss has obviously misinterpreted my actions, and has her bow pointed straight at me. My eyebrows raise of their own accord, and I wait for it. I wait for her to release that string. I wait to die. But she doesn't. Instead she drops her weapons and takes a step back, flushed in shame.

"No," I tell her. "Do it." I limp towards her and thrust the weapons back into her hands.

"I can't," she says. "I won't."

"Do it," I say desperately. "Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato."

"Then you shoot me!" she says furiously, shoving the weapons back at me. I'm shocked by her ferocity. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!"

Live with it? Live with _that_? With _killing_ her? I couldn't even live with myself if she died, let alone if I killed her myself!

"You know I can't," I say, and throw the weapons aside. A better idea has come to me. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." I lean down and rip the bandage off my leg, letting the blood flow freely down to the earth.

"No, you can't kill yourself," she says desperately, dropping to her knees and plastering the bandage back on my leg. But I'm determined in this. This is what it was always meant to come down to. Me and her. And I'm supposed to die. Right here, right now. This was the plan. So she can go home. So Katniss Everdeen can live. And Peeta Mellark has to die. I _want_ to die. I want to die so she can live.

"Katniss," I say, almost pleadingly. "It's what I want."

"You're not leaving me here alone," she says, and tears start to pool in her eyes.

"Listen," I say, pulling her to her feet and gripping her tightly. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me."

She stares at me numbly.

"Katniss, please. Please, you have to live. I could never live with myself if I let you die. Because I love you. I love you, Katniss, I really do, and I couldn't live without you in my life. I couldn't live if you were dead. I can't live without you. You have to take it. You have to win. You have to let me die. Please, Katniss. I love you."

I'm barely aware of what I'm saying, I'm saying anything, anything at all to get her to agree to go home. But it's clear her mind is far off, and when my speech has faded away is when she fumbles with the pouch on her belt. The pouch containing the deadly nightlock. I clamp my hand around her wrist.

"No, I won't let you," I tell her firmly.

"Trust me," she whispers, locking her gaze with mine. My heart thumps madly, every thought is wiped from my head. And without conscious consent I release her. For a moment I think I've gone mad, but what she does next is totally unexpected. She loosens the top of the pouch and pours a few berries out on my palm. Then she fills her own. "On the count of three?"

And her plan becomes clear.

A double suicide.

A long time ago, when I was a very young kid, my father would tell us, as in me and my brothers, bedtime stories, my mother sometimes, too, before she turned into what she is today. Back when she was kind and when I never questioned that she loved us. She was the one who told me this one, and it stuck. She only told it to us once, but I remember it. I remember it because it was so beautiful and sad and tragic.

The story of two star-crossed lovers, who come from different families, feuding families. Yet they loved each other so much, that they could not bear to live without the other. When they are unable to be together, they kill themselves to join the other in death.

And this is the story that strikes me now, as we hold these deadly berries out to each other. Two star-crossed lovers doomed to die. We parallel those in the story, us star-crossed lovers from Twelve. I think of my family back home, and then I think of hers. She has to live. She must know I would never go for this if it meant her death. But . . . was there something she was not telling me? Did she have a plan she could not tell me?

_Trust me…_

I lean down and kiss her once, very gently. Our last kiss. One that tells her that not only do I love her, I trust her.

"On the count of three," I confirm softly.

We stand with our back pressed together, our empty hands linked tightly together.

"Hold them out," I say, opening my palm filled with berries to the cameras. "I want everyone to see."

She gives my hand one last squeeze. A signal, a goodbye. Until we met again. And she begins counting. "One." My heart starts to race. "Two." I'm going to die. We're going to die. "Three." It's too late to turn back now. I raise the berries to my mouth, the colors of the world make one last impression on me. I hold tightly to Katniss's hand, and place the berries in my mouth.

Then the trumpets begin to blare.

The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above us, and then everything becomes clear.

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you—the tributes of District Twelve!"


	19. Chapter 19

26

Without thinking twice I spew the berries from my mouth, drag Katniss to the lake to flush out our mouths to make sure no juice remains, and then we collapse in each other's arms.

"You didn't swallow any?" she asks me.

I shake my head. "You?"

"Guess I'd be dead by now if I did," she says.

I start to tell her how glad I am she's _not_ dead and compliment her on her cleverness but my words are drowned out by the roar of the crowd over the loudspeakers, which is probably a good thing.

The hovercraft materializes over us, and two ladders drop, but there's no way we're letting go of each other. She keeps one arm around my waist and I keep one firmly locked around her shoulders as she helps me up, and we each place a foot on the rung of the ladder. And I realize as the electric current freezes us both in place that it might already be too late, anyway, because my leg is bleeding freely now with nothing to stop it. Black is starting to crawl on the edges of my vision and my head feels light. I've already lost so much blood. We waited too long. My eyes had locked on Katniss's face, and she's the last thing I see before I lose consciousness.

Pain. I know only pain and darkness that comes with the occasional flash of a bright light. I hear someone screaming my name and calm, hurried voices. The whining sound of high-tech capitol machinery, almost sounds like a saw. Someone calls out when they realize I'm regaining consciousness and a soft cloth is pressed over my nose and mouth. I take one deep breath and I'm out like a light.

When I wake it's under a haze of morphling. Vaguely I register that I'm naked but for a thin hospital gown, that I'm clean. But something seems off that I can't quite place. I check my surroundings. The soft yellow lights in the white ceiling seem much too bright. I'm in a room by myself. There are no doors or windows. Tubes come out of my arm and disappear into the walls behind me.

Then I examine myself to make sure I'm still in one piece. I raise my hands in front of my face. The burn scars accumulated over years of baking as well as the cut on my forearm from being cut at the bloodbath and the scars on my palms from when Katniss pushed me are less prominent. I run my hands up my arms. My skin is soft and smooth. The cut on my shoulder that Cato gave me is almost gone. So is the cut on my neck from Clove's knife. I run my hands through my hair. It's silky and soft. Interesting.

Curious, I sit up and run my hand down my thigh to check on where Cato stabbed me.

But when I glance down at my feet, or I should say foot, I get the shock of my life.

Because my leg is gone.

My leg is _gone._

My _leg_ is _gone._

I start to panic. I must be mistaken. I have to be. I can't trust my eyes. I blink several times, but still there is nothing there but a heavily bandaged stump. I try to move it, to wiggle my toes, to rotate my foot, but there's nothing there to move. It's gone. It's just gone. _My leg is gone!_

Before I can start to hyperventilate, before I can even utterly lose my head, an icy drug slides down one of the tubes into my arm and I lose consciousness.

The second time I wake up, I allow myself a few moments to prep myself before looking down at my leg. No, it wasn't a nightmare. It's still not there. They don't knock me out this time when the wave of panic hits me. Cautiously, as though it were one of those mutts that might bite me, I reach down and touch the now more lightly bandaged stump.

It doesn't hurt, but the shock of making contact with where used to be a functioning limb sets me reeling. I whip my hand back like I'd been burned, and cover my face with my hands, desperately trying to get a grip.

Just then a portion of the wall slides open, and in walks the red-headed Avox girl that served us before the arena. She's carrying a tray of food. She slides it over my lap. A meager helping of clear broth and applesauce and water. My stomach rumbles. Even looking at it I know it's not enough. I look back up at the Avox girl. And a desire to know only one thing swallows me whole.

"Is Katniss alive? Is she alright?"

The Avox girl nods. And for some reason I trust her. Why would she lie about this? A wave of relief so powerful hits me that I even forget about my leg for a moment. The girl slips a spoon in my hand and leaves.

I eye the food suspiciously, not trusting anything from the Capitol. But if they wanted me dead, they would have just let me die, right? They wouldn't have wasted all the resources and money it surely took to keep me alive only to kill me now with poisoned food. They would have just let me swallow those berries or bleed to death. Almost before this thought fully registers the spoon has already scooped up the broth and entered my mouth.

When I've finished eating, though I have done nothing to provoke it, they knock me out again.

They do this several times over. Wake me up, feed me, knock me out again. Slowly the scars fade completely, they wean me off the morphine, my portions of food become larger, and I start to gain back some of the weight I've lost. The time I wake up and the bandages around the stump of my leg are completely gone I hear a man yelling. They do not have the funny accent of the Capitol, but rather the rougher cadences of home. Haymitch. I hear something about surgical alterations and wonder what's going on before I'm knocked out again.

And finally, I awake and there's nothing plugged into my arm.

I wait for something to happen, for them to knock me back out, perhaps, but they don't. Instead the wall opens back up again, and in walks a white-coated doctor with some kind of plastic and metal contraption in his hand.

"Mr. Mellark," says the doctor, smiling kindly. I eye him suspiciously. For all I know he might be the doctor that chopped off my leg. He holds out the hand not holding the contraption. "I am Doctor Hallen." He gestures his hand more insistently and reluctantly I shake it quickly before letting go.

"Congratulations on your victory!" he says, and starts undoing the restraint holding me. "I'm so sorry about your leg. I'm afraid that in saving your life Miss Everdeen cost you your leg."

I say nothing to this. Dr. Hallen smiles, displaying rows of perfectly even, unnaturally white teeth. The smile does not reach his eyes.

"No matter," he says, removing the last restraint around my waist. "Do you think you could swing yourself over for me, Peeta?"

I do as he says, and it's more awkward than I thought it would be without the balance of my other leg. But somehow I manage to get myself into a sitting position, my one leg dangling over the bed.

"Good, good, Peeta!"

His tone is almost patronizing and I feel a strong urge to hit him. He holds out the metal and plastic device, and I realize it's in the same shape and size as what used to be my leg. I eye the thing apprehensively.

"This is your new leg, Peeta. I'll show you how to put it on, and see how well you walk with it."

He shows me how to strap the thing on my leg, as well as take it off, and then has me do it myself. I pick it up quickly, and he uses his condescending tone again like I'm three. It takes all my restraint to keep from snapping at him.

"Alright, Peeta, let's try standing now."

Standing proves to be slightly more tricky than sitting up. The bed is raised, and it requires a slight drop to put my feet . . . well, foot, and contraption, on the floor. I land unsteadily and nearly fall over, but I'm able to catch myself on the bed. I balance unsteadily on my one good leg.

"Put your weight on the prosthetic, Peeta," says Dr. Hallen. "It will take your weight, don't worry."

Slowly I do, and it feels so strange to stand there feeling nothing but empty space in one leg. But it does hold my weight, as good as my real leg.

"Let's try walking."

Walking seems almost an impossible act as flying right now, but I have to try. If I can't walk, I'm helpless, and I refuse to be that.

So hesitantly put all of my weight on my good leg, and lose the balance of the prosthetic as I lift it up. I take a step forward…

And I topple over.

"It's alright, it's alright," says the doctor, helping me back up again. I fall back on the bed, slightly irritated. "Not to worry, that often happens. I have just the thing."

He walks out the door, and quickly comes back in holding a metal cane. He shows me how to walk with it, and I'm able to somewhat function independently without the aid of the doctor.

"Good job, Peeta," he says, looking pleased I've picked it up so quickly. "I think you'll have no problems."

And he leaves the room. I'm not left alone for long, though. The door opens again, and in walks Portia.

I'm so relieved when I see her. Someone, someone at last I can trust. Someone who I can ask questions and get answers. She gives me a big hug with tears in her eyes.

"Portia," I say as I return her hug.

"Peeta!" she says excitedly. "Oh, I can't believe it! You both made it out!"

Speaking of…

"Where's Katniss?" I all but demand of her.

"Don't worry," she says, and she dumps some clothes on the bed. "She's perfectly fine. She's with Cinna and Effie and Haymitch. They want to do your reunion live on air at the ceremony."

"Oh," I say, relieved. Portia holds out the clothes, and that's when I notice what they are. They're the clothes all us tributes wore in the arena. I stare at her in disbelief before I realize that's what I'll wear to greet my team. She has no choice in the outfit.

"Don't worry," she tells me reassuringly. "You won't be wearing them for long. It's just until we get you upstairs to get ready."

She lays the clothes out on the bed, and has me sit down.

"I'm so sorry about your leg, Peeta," she says while she helps me dress, and I'm so unsteady on my leg that I realize that that's why they've sent her in here prematurely. Because there's no way I could do this on my own.

"It's okay. I'm alive, aren't I?" I say, shrugging.

"Yes, you're alive. You've both gone down in Hunger Games history!" The tone is excited, but it's not her usual excitement. Something is wrong. Her eyes scream a warning through her smile. Alarm bells go off in my head. But if she doesn't feel like she can tell me, then there's no way I can ask about it. And I get the feeling that this isn't over yet.

Portia straightens the jacket, and hands me back my cane.

"Are you ready?" she says. I nod.

The door opens, and she walks with me out the door and down a hallway, walking slightly behind me in case I fall. If it were anyone but Portia, who I know means nothing patronizing by this and is only trying to help, I would have snapped at them.

A door opens in the big chamber at the end of the hall and in walks Haymitch and Effie. Effie bursts into tears when she sees me and my cane. But she's probably just so pleased to see me alive that she doesn't walk out. She pats me on the cheek, and keeps saying how she told everyone we were pearls. Haymitch shakes my hand, and his grin seems genuine for once. Perhaps because for once, he has managed to keep not just one but two tributes alive.

"Nice job, Peeta," he says, and pats me on the back.

Cinna is conspicuously absent, however.

"Where's Cinna? Is he with Katniss? She's alright, right?"

Haymitch grins at this, rolling his eyes, and he and Effie share a look.

"Two of kind, those two," he says.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"Nevermind," says Haymitch, shaking his head. "Yes, Katniss is fine, she's with Cinna. Safe and sound. Just saw her, and you were the first thing she was worried about, too. Go with Portia, she's got to get you ready. And forget about looking for Katniss, you're not going to get to see each other before the ceremony."

Haymitch, for whatever reason, seems to be on edge. But there's no time to ask him about it, and I can't anyway, because we're on camera. Portia ushers me away from the cameras and leads me down a few passages and into the elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. The windows of the lobby are darkened and a handful of guards stand on duty. I get a bad feeling as they watch us cross to the tribute elevator. There's never been guards there before and the place has never been so empty feeling. It's more than eerie, it's unnerving. Something is wrong.

This is what I dwell on as the elevator shoots upward. What is going on?

I am afraid.

But I don't know why. I shouldn't be. And yet I do. I feel fear.

Portia leads me to my room, where my prep team awaits. They engulf me, chattering like monkeys and circling me like oddly-colored birds. It's clear what the topic is, though the words are hard to make out. They're happy to see me, shocked we're both alive, and pleased to witness such a historic Hunger Games. They fawn over me and all they can talk about is how romantic the whole thing was. I can barely get two words in (not that I mind all that much). Portia smiles at me apologetically.

A small meal has been set up on the table. But the food is delicious and real—not tasteless broth—and my mouth starts to water just looking at it. The first thing I go for is the rolls, which taste and smell of home.

"We would be eating in the dining room," says Portia. "But Katniss, Cinna, and her prep team have taken it over."

"I don't mind," I say, practically stuffing myself. I don't care where I eat as long as I get food. When I'm finished I feel satisfied for the first time in days. An Avox comes in to clear the table, Portia leaves us for a while, and we move into the bathroom. The prep team helps me get out of the tribute clothes. When the prosthetic leg is revealed they collectively gasp. The purple one has tears in her eyes when they usher me into the shower, push a few buttons, and leave me to my own devices.

I look down at the leg apprehensively—the doctor had neglected to mention whether or not it was waterproof. But it seems to be working fine, and I don't think I can perch in the shower like a flamingo anyway, so I leave the thing on while I shower. When I'm done my prep team gets to work on my nails and hair and making me look nice for the cameras. While they work they chatter on and I only have to say a word here or there in agreement with them.

Portia comes in, and helps me dress in a soft yellow shirt made of a light, flickering material, long black pants, sturdy black boots. It's a bit awkward sliding the leather over the plastic, though the sturdy boots will make it less likely I will slip.

"You look so nice, Peeta," says Portia. I look in the mirror. In this outfit, I look almost innocent. I look like a boy. Strange, and a bit ironic, considering I've just won the Games, and killed children. But I also look stronger than I feel and steady. Not the broken piece of a person I feel like I am. No, I look every bit the part of the 'Lover Boy' that the audience expects of me.

"What, no more fire?" I say. But Portia shakes her head.

"Not fire, more like . . . candlelight. Wait till you see what Katniss is wearing."

"I just thought it'd be a bit more…" I trail off. I don't quite know what I was expecting. Something more sophisticated?

"We thought that Katniss would like this better."

She straightens my shirt, tucks it in more firmly, makes sure my hair lies just right. We leave my room, take the elevator to the level where we trained, underneath the stage. We will rise up from beneath, first the prep team and then the escort, the stylist, the mentors, and finally the victor. Or rather Victors, this year. We enter a poorly lit room and Portia and my prep team leave to change their costumes and take their own positions, and I'm left alone.

I smell the fresh paint, see the piles of sawdust and the metal plate I'm standing on is shiny and new. I see a makeshift wall a few yards away and I assume Katniss is behind it. My heart starts to race with a slight excitement, anticipation at seeing Katniss again. I hear the door open and look around to see Haymitch.

He smiles grimly at me.

"How's the leg working out?" he says.

"As well as it can, I guess. I'll try not to fall," I say jokingly. This wrangles a slight grin out of him, but he still looks grim and worried and I don't understand. Because we're safe now, there's nothing left to worry about. Why does he look so stressed?

"Somehow I knew you wouldn't chicken out," he says. I look at him in confusion and he clarifies. "When it came down to just you and her." It takes me a moment to remember that's what he asked me on the roof when I told him I wanted to keep Katniss alive.

"Well, I had a promise to keep," I say. "To keep Katniss alive."

"And I'm sure you will," he says. Something seems off about his sentence, but I can't quite place it and he's already given me a reassuring clap on the shoulder while I try to work out what he's just said.

"I'm going to go check on Katniss," he says, and leaves. Leaves me alone with nothing but my cane and the roar of the crowd. And by the time I've stepped onto the metal plate what he's said has worked itself out.

He said it in future tense. Not past. Which means that . . .

Which means that somehow, Katniss is not safe.


	20. Chapter 20

27

There's no time to work out what this might mean, how exactly she might be in danger, how to protect her from whatever this new threat is. Because the anthem is booming down below the stage, and Caesar Flickerman's greeting the audience, and it's time for the show.

The crowd breaks into a round of applause for the prep teams. They must be loving this, their moment in the spotlight. Effie's introduced. She's certainly waited for this moment long enough. Then Portia and Cinna, and they receive huge cheers for their amazing costumes. Haymitch gets the loudest round of applause yet. The stomping and screaming and whistles go on for a full five minutes. The opinion of Haymitch in the Capitol has clearly changed dramatically. Only a few weeks ago he was nothing but the resident drunk of the Victor's circle, nothing but a joke… and now, they can't get enough of him. But he's accomplished a first in keeping not just one but two tributes alive.

And before I know it it's my turn and the metal plate is grinding up and I'm deafened by the roar of the crowd and blinded by the stage lights and then… and then she's there, only a few yards away from me, the smile spreading over her face when she sees me lights up her whole face. And she's just so beautiful and safe and whole and _alive_ that I can't help but grin like a fool. The roars and cheering of the crowd and everything else are utterly forgotten as she takes three tottering steps toward me on shaking knees and flings herself into my waiting arms.

I stagger back, almost losing my balance, but as I right myself and we just cling to each other I notice she's trembling. Whether this is from the same type of nervous giddiness that she demonstrated in the opening ceremony and the interviews or something more fearful I don't know. So, partially to ease her fear, partially for the audience, but mostly for myself, I kiss her. As expected the audience goes wild. And since this is the first time I've been able to kiss her without threat of imminent death I'm not likely to stop anytime soon.

So when Caesar Flickerman taps me on the shoulder after about ten minutes of kissing to remind me us that we have a show to do here, I push him aside, because, after all, kissing is _much_ more important than some stupid show. The audience goes completely berserk.

Finally Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove towards the victor's chair. Only this year instead of an ornate throne, there's a plush red velvet loveseat from which to watch the highlights of the Games.

I sit on the couch, feet firmly planted on the stage. Katniss sits so close to me she's practically on my lap, but she seems to rethink this and kicks off her sandals, tucking her feet up under her and resting her head on my shoulder. It only seems natural when I put my arm around her. Her dress, made of the same flickering material as my shirt, does indeed give off the impression she's wearing candlelight. Sweet. Innocent. Harmless. She looks like she could be maybe fourteen. And I wonder, as I did when they were going to set us on fire, what Portia and Cinna are thinking when they design these costumes for us.

Caesar makes a few more jokes before the show starts. The seal appears on the screen and I realize I am not prepared for this. I don't want to watch our fellow tributes die a second time. I do not want to watch a second time what was a nightmare to go through the first. I know Katniss feels the same way because I feel her stiffen. I reach out and take her hand and she clings to mine with both of hers like a lifeline. I give her shoulders a gentle squeeze and pull her close to me, making sure she knows that I'm there for her. And I honestly don't know how previous victors have faced this alone because I know if Katniss were not beside me then … then I don't know what I would do. They'd probably have to drag me out on stage and remove my eyelids to force me to watch this.

The screen flickers on, an upbeat soundtrack plays. This year, for the first time ever, the people who put together the clips tell a love story. Katniss and I's pictures are shown. The crowd cheers. And then starts the first half hour, the pre-arena events. The reaping, the chariots, the training scores, the interviews.

Then comes the arena, and I'm forced to watch as once again I participate in the bloodbath and kill the boy from five. I want nothing more than to look away, but this is hardly the kind of thing a Victor can do. So I compromise by clinging a bit tighter to Katniss. Now I see what Katniss went through in full. How she dodged the knife Clove threw at her (they show me tackling Clove), how she ran from the bloodbath, nearly died of dehydration those first days, and when she was on death's door she finally found water. How she was hidden in that tree. I notice they don't show me holding the hand of the girl from 8 as she died.

Right. Because Victors are supposed to be ruthless killers, not comfort each other while they die.

Then the fire, Katniss getting her leg set on fire, the Careers chase her up the tracker jacker tree. They show how I stayed awake all night under that tree and how Katniss sneaked up during the anthem to drop the tracker jacker nest on us in the morning. I watch as I fight Cato and from this angle it looks even more gruesome when I get stabbed in the leg. They show me when I'm under the hallucinations, and I block it out, because they're too terrible to relive and remember. But I catch that when I'm coming out of it, I whispered Katniss's name in my sleep.

Katniss then teams up with Rue, spends a night with her in the tree, plots with her to blow up the supplies. I find myself holding my breath when Katniss shoots the last arrow at the sack of apples and gets blown off her feet and disorientated, bleeding from her ear. She evades discovery by the Careers in the nick of time. Though I knew it happened, I'm shocked when I see Cato, brutally snapping the neck of the boy from District 3. And then I realize that I actually somewhat _liked_ Three, and I feel sort of hollow when I watch his death. Maybe it was because we were both outsiders in the pack of Careers.

Then Katniss goes hunting for Rue, and they play her death in full. It's one of Katniss's most touching moments yet. I actually see a few people in the crowd wipe away tears. Rue is speared in the stomach, Marvel is killed with an arrow through the throat. Tiny little Rue, dying in Katniss's arms, asks for a song. And Katniss sings. Sings with such beauty and emotion that you can tell exactly how much Rue has come to mean to her in the short space of time. Katniss grips my hand particularly tightly and I look down at her to see her, blank stare, watching the screen. I give her a gentle squeeze.

They omit the part where Katniss covers Rue in flowers, too. Because after all, we're not supposed to be more than a piece in their Games. We're supposed to be there for entertainment. Not be defiant against the Capitol and definitely not supposed to not play by their rules.

But things start to pick up when they announce both of us can live, and she calls out my name and claps her hands over her mouth the same time I call out hers'. They play out every moment between us in the cave as she nurses me back to health. The feast is shown, Katniss gets cut and taunted by Clove, Thresh lets Katniss go because of Rue, and Clove is killed by Thresh. Before they cut to the next scene I hear Cato call out Clove's name desperately and I feel a jolt of pity for Cato. I nurse Katniss back to health, we hunt, Foxface dies from the berries. And then the mutts and Cato and his death and part of me just shuts down because it's too awful to feel a second time.

And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss a moment. And they end, not with the announcement of our Victory, but with Katniss pounding on the glass door in the hovercraft, screaming my name as they try to revive me. I had no idea how bad off I was. My heart stops twice. It races now, knowing how close I'd come to death without even knowing it. Thankfully, they don't show my leg getting cut off. I don't quite want to know how they did that. But watching Katniss screaming my name hollows out my stomach and I shut down even further.

Thankfully, I'm good at hiding this.

Then the anthem plays and we rise. President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion holding a crown, and I can't stop the thought that this man has a sick way of using children to achieve his ends. The crowd stirs with confusion because there's only one crown, and whose head will he place it on? But President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two pieces. He places the first around my brow. The sickly sweet smell of roses surrounds the man and there's something coppery in the air as well that I can't quite place. His eyes are like ice, as cold and unforgiving as a snake's despite the smile. A shudder runs down my spine as this man looks me in the eye. Then he places the second on Katniss's head and an irrational fear fills me as he nears her. I exhale in relief when he backs away.

More cheers and bowing. We wave to the audience and when my cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much and my arm is about to fall off from waving is when Caesar Flickerman finally bids good night to the audience and reminds them to tune in for the final interviews tomorrow.

Katniss and I are whisked away to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet. Eating is constantly disturbed as Capitol officials and our more generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way to try and get a picture with us. Face after face rolls by, and I lose count of the number of times I get my hand shaken. These people become increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Katniss is brilliant, laughing and thanking people and smiling. She keeps up with me easily and sometimes is even more sociable than me. But her grip on my hand is so tight it hurts, her laugh has a note of tension in it, and occasionally she'll start trembling again and her palm starts to sweat. And that's when I'll look over and catch a glimpse of President Snow.

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon when at last the party comes to an end for us, and we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the training center. At long last I think Katniss and I might get a moment alone, but Haymitch sends me off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and as she leads me away and Haymitch escorts Katniss to her door I distinctly hear Katniss ask why she can't talk to me and Haymitch respond: "Plenty of time for talk when we get home." Then he orders Katniss to bed.

After Portia sticks some pins in a shirt for the interview Haymitch comes and takes me to my room. I stare longingly at Katniss's door. Thinking I'll just visit her on the roof as soon as Haymitch leaves, I leave it alone. I do go up to the roof almost immediately, but it's empty. After a few hours of sleeping and waking up from violent nightmares I decide to go directly to her room but when I turn the knob, I find my bedroom door has been locked from the outside. A chill runs down my spine again and I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched, monitored, confined. I feel fear again and I worry about Katniss. Staying asleep proves almost impossible, as every single dream is of losing her, each way more terrible than the last.

Finally Effie knocks on my door to announce the start of another "Big, big, big day!"

I barely have five minutes to scarf up breakfast before my prep team descends. They won't stop talking and continue to worry about what the audience thought of them until I reassure them that the crowd loved them. They gush over this and apply make-up heavily to cover the dark circles under my eyes.

When Portia comes in she shoos them out of the room. She dresses me in a deep red shirt and white blazer and dark pants made of a stiff, strange material I've never seen before.

"They're called jeans," explains Portia. "They're made of denim."

The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. It's a relief to see Katniss there, looking pretty in a gauzy white dress and pink shoes and rosy cheeks, after my nightmares last night. I pull her off to the side.

"I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart."

A sort of blank look comes into her eyes, and I catch a touch of fear. And I know we both know that 'Haymitch' is code for 'the Capitol.' Her smile covers anything off, and all she says is, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately."

"Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time."

And the prospect of going home, to get away from the prying eyes of the Capitol, to be alone with Katniss, fills me and makes me almost deliriously happy. But her reaction is something completely different. Goosebumps rise on her flesh and she sort of shivers. There's no time register any more than a sinking feeling, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the loveseat.

"Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet," says Caesar. So Katniss tucks her feet up and I pull her in close to me.

Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the whole of Panem. Caesar is as good as he usually is, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. That rapport we established during the first interview returns, and we fall into an easy banter. Katniss speaks as little as possible and I speak as much as possible for her so she doesn't have to. She has to talk a bit, of course, but as soon as she can she redirects the conversation back to me. Eventually though, the banter is not enough, and Caesar starts to pose questions that insist on fuller answers.

"Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?"

"From the moment I laid eyes on her," I respond automatically.

"But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?"

It's such a direct question, completely unsugar-coated, asking her exactly when she fell in love with me, that I'm not surprised that she falters.

"Oh, that's a hard one…" she says, giving a faint, breathy laugh. She looks down at her hands. I can practically hear her cry for help.

"Well, I know when it hit me," says Caesar, answering it. "That night when you shouted out his name from that tree."

She looks up at him gratefully. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed."

She's not half-bad at this, once you get her going.

"Why do you think that was?" urges Caesar.

"Maybe…" she starts shyly. I feel a touch of curiosity. "Because for the first time…there was a chance I could keep him."

Her forced confession touches me. My heart gives a funny sort of leap. I press my forehead to her temple, watching her, smiling softly. "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

She turns into me. There's a strange look in her eyes I can't quite place, but it makes my heart beat a little faster. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt," she says. I feel a rush of affection and when I kiss her people in the room actually sigh. Along with myself.

But for Caesar this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena. From burns to stings to wounds. And I feel dread when we get around to the mutts because I know he's going to ask me and I'm not ready to talk about this to the whole country and I'm not even sure Katniss knows. Sure enough, he asks me how the "new leg" is working out.

"New leg?" says Katniss, looking so surprised she seems to forget we're on camera. She reaches out and pulls up the bottom of my pants. "Oh, no," she whispers, looking extremely upset when she see the prosthetic.

"No one told you?" asks Caesar gently. Katniss shakes her head.

"I haven't had the chance," I say with a slight shrug.

"It's my fault," she says. "Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes, it's your fault I'm alive," I say.

"He's right," says Caesar. "He's have bled to death for sure without it."

She knows he's right, and I know he's right. I tried, in the beginning, when I was still under the haze of morphine, I really tried to blame Katniss, but I know better. I know I'd be dead more than once without her. I couldn't blame her for the loss of my leg. I can't. She kept me alive.

But she still looks so upset about it she looks like she might cry, and she buries her face in my shirt to hide. It takes several minutes to coax her back out, and Caesar has enough tact to back off questioning her to let her recover. Caesar questions me about a few more things and I try to lengthen my answers as much as possible so when he does question her we might be short on time. He leaves her alone until the berries come up.

"Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind…hm?" says Caesar.

She takes a long pause before she answers. And when she does, it's not carefully chosen words but a jumble. But it's better that way, because it's so much more genuine. "I don't know," she says. "I just…couldn't bear the thought of…being without him."

"Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

"No," I answer. "I think that goes for both of us."

And that's it. Caesar signs off and it's over. And everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, because it's almost over. And now we're going home. _Home_. I never thought to return when I left and now I'm going back. I can't believe I'm going home. We're going home.

There's nothing left for me in my room, so I don't bother going back in, but Katniss goes back to hers to retrieve her mockingjay pin. They drive us through the streets in a car with blacked windows and the train's waiting for us. We give a hurried goodbye to Cinna and Portia. We'll see them again in a few months anyway for the victory tour.

The train begins moving and we're plunged in darkness. I hold Katniss's hand till we clear the tunnel. And when we're out she seems to visibly relax, more so than she has since the reaping. We eat an enormous dinner with Effie and Haymitch and sit in silence to watch a replay of the interview. Then Katniss excuses herself, and when she returns she is no longer the tribute puppet. No longer the girl on fire. She is Katniss Everdeen. Plain and simple. The girl who lives in the Seam and hunts in the woods and trades in the Hob. The sixteen year old head of the household. Plain shirt and pants. No makeup. Hair done in a long braid. I put my arm around her shoulders, and even to me it feels strange, because we're going back home and this Katniss is not the Katniss I am brave enough to touch. To even talk to.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel we're allowed outside for some fresh air. Katniss and I walk down the tracks, hand in hand. And the moment is so happy and simple and perfect I want to freeze it and live in it forever.

The only thing missing is some flowers for my girl. So I stop and gather a bunch of wildflowers. But when I give them to her, her smile is more forced than it was if there were a dozen cameras around.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," she answers, and we continue walking, so I put it down to melancholy. But when we pass the end of the train and the feeling of being constantly watched lifts somewhat, she still does not say anything, and I begin to grow worried.

And then Haymitch appears behind us, puts a hand on Katniss's back. Even in the middle of nowhere he keeps his voice down.

"Great job, you two," he says. "Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay."

Katniss watches Haymitch head back to the train, avoiding my eyes.

"What's he mean?" I ask.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," she blurts out.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"It seemed a little too rebellious," she says, and I'm struck by the words Haymitch said on the roof. _You know that could be interpreted as rebellion._ Oh, no. Oh, _shit_. That's not good. And then there's what he said before the interview. About keeping Katniss safe. My job is not over. It possibly never will be.

But we're safe now, aren't we? We're safe in Twelve. Why would they harm us? They couldn't kill off the star-crossed lovers in the arena and now it would be too obvious. They can't. We're safe. _We're safe._ It's what I keep telling myself to cover the rising fear and I just hope I'm right.

"So," continues Katniss, her voice low. "Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse."

"Coaching you?" I repeat, feeling like something is closing in on me. "But not me."

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," says Katniss.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," I say, a cold emptiness taking hold of me. Shock. Shock at this realization. I feel like I'm being drawn up in a trap. Or maybe that I'm a puppet and now I'm looking up to see the strings. My heart starts to beat painfully. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess…back in the arena…that was just some strategy you two worked out."

"No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" she stammers.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" I ask, and Katniss hesitates. It's fast closing in on me. Something awful. I can feel it. It hurts. It hurts even through the numb shock and disbelief. Because it's all starting to come together now, all the little pieces. The timely arrival of that basket of food. The lack of gifts on my end. The romance . . . the . . . words . . . the _lies_ . . . she bites her lip. "Katniss?" I say. And I drop her hand. Because now it feels so foreign in mine. She takes a step back, as if to catch her balance. And I feel empty and hollow. And hurt.

"It was all for the Games," I say, coming to the one, horrible, awful conclusion. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," she says quietly, desperately. She clings tightly to her flowers.

"Then how much?" I ask. Then I realize I don't want to hear the answer. Because if she says it was all fake, then I don't think I could take it. "No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?"

"I don't know," she says. And it's that one answer, right there. Those three simple words that hurt so badly. There's a hole in my chest where my heart used to be. It's like I've been stabbed again by Cato. No. Not by Cato. By Katniss. "The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," she says.

And I wait. I wait for further explanation. Because like a fool I cling to hope where none exists. Like a fool I bought into this whole game. But she says nothing. Nothing at all. She just stands there, looking down at her flowers. And there's nothing. Nothing, like there's nothing where my leg used to be. Only this is so much worse. Because it's our love that's missing. No. That's not right. Something can't go missing if it was never there. And apparently, there never was any love. Except on my side. And I was an idiot to believe she felt the same. I'm still an idiot for clinging to that fragile hope.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," I say, and as I walk away I can feel my heart breaking. Every step is like another stab to the heart.

And by the time I board the train, I almost think dying like Cato would be preferable. Because it'd be less painful. Mutts would be easier. I disappear into my room. For the night. For the next morning. For the rest of the trip. Because I can't face the outside world. Not when I can't even face myself. But by the time the train rolls into District 12, I have to leave the safe cave that is my room. The cave like the one in the arena. The cave where no one can see me. Where no one can see the tears fall down my face. Where no one has to bear witness to my pain except me. But now I lose that safety.

I exit my room for the first time in days, and the sight of Katniss hurts. But I'm hollow. So I nod at her. All politeness. No emotion. So we stand there silently, watching the grimy little station rise up around us. The platform is thick with cameras. Ready for the show.

And the show must go on.

So I extend my hand to her. She looks at me, unsure.

"One more time? For the audience?" I say. And I'm not angry. I feel empty. Hollow. I don't care about coming home anymore. But it has to be done, and this has to be done. We have to pretend, one more time. _She_ has to pretend.

So Katniss takes my hand, holding on tightly, and we prepare to meet the cameras.

And I'm dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

**END OF BOOK ONE**


	21. Catching Fire

**A/N:** _So here it is! The first chapter of Catching Fire!_ _After a bit of a break I'm ready to jump straight back into the action._

_Also, I saw the movie. It was awesome. Though there wasn't enough Peeta for my tastes :P Honestly, I think the people that made the movie are Gale shippers. Blech. Though I don't really blame them. Liam Hemsworth (the guy that played Gale) is way too hot. He almost converted me. Almost. Then I learned he's dating Miley Cyrus. Yeah, needless to say, I'm a Peeta shipper again._

**_I don't own anything to do with The Hunger_ _Games!_**

Catching Fire

**Part I **

"**THE SPARK"**

1

Noon. They will be here at noon.

At noon, I will have to face the cameras. The reporters. The style teams, the stylists. Even Effie Trinket.

At noon, I will have to pretend that I have a life that is not really real. That I'm part two of the happy couple, madly in love. But it's not true. It's not real. I wish it was, but it's not. Only a few days after the Games ended did Katniss, part one of our star-crossed lovers team, told me just how fake it all was. That what we had was all for the cameras. It was all for survival. It was all for the Games.

The Hunger Games. Of which I am now a Victor.

Yay me.

Note the sarcasm.

Being a Victor isn't all it's cracked up to be. Yeah, there's the new fancy house, bigger than my family's bakery two times over. Living in the Victor's Village. The big ovens in the kitchen. Running water. Twenty-four seven electricity. All the flour I could want. And the paints, oh the paints! I'd never painted before in my life, but now I can afford to pick it up. And I'm good at it, I love painting. It calms me like nothing else. It's the best thing to come out of winning the Games. For me, personally. There was parcel day, too, where everyone in Twelve got packages of food. Seeing all those hungry children's faces as they received food to feed their families, to know would get enough to eat each month for a year, made all of it worth the trouble.

But nothing is free. It has a cost. A hefty one, at that.

First off, there's the nightmares. Nightmares of watching my twenty-two fellow tributes die, some by my own hand. Nightmares of losing Katniss. Of watching her die. You wouldn't think it'd be that bad…after all, nightmares are just dreams, they're not real. Or at least, some of them aren't. But it's wearing, so, so wearing to not get restful sleep, night after night after night…

Then there's the estrangement from my family. Ever since they declined moving into the Victor's Village with me, ever since I got back from the Capitol, it's like I'm a whole other person. It's like I don't belong in that bakery with them anymore. I don't fit into that life. Their life. It's almost like I've been placed above them, actually, _literally_ been placed above them; and I hate it. Because I don't feel like I deserve this fancy house, after all I went through to get it. After all the terrible things I did in the name of survival. Katniss's survival, of course. Not mine. My survival was never part of the plan. It was pure luck.

Well, not entirely. I survived because of those nightlock berries. Those deadly berries that Katniss poured in my hand. That we both were fully prepared to swallow. The berries, Katniss and Haymitch now tell me, which has not earned us any favors among the people in power.

And then there's Katniss.

Katniss, who I have been in love with since I was five. Katniss, who I was willing to die for. Katniss, who I thought loved me too. And Katniss, who has not spoken to me since the cameras left and who dropped the star-crossed lovers act the minute we could.

And there's been an icy coldness between us ever since.

I'm not talking about the snow and ice on the ground between our houses.

But now, we will have to pick it back up again. In just a few hours. At noon. When it's time to start the Victory Tour. As if sending kids to the slaughter every year isn't enough already, they force us to treat the horror like a celebration. We will travel round to the Districts, and look down into the faces of the families whose children we've killed. Those people who really loathe us. Our reminder and the people of the district's reminder that the Hunger Games never truly go away. That the capitol has us in it's power, and there's nothing we can do about it.

Snow starts to fall, collecting in little drifts on the windowsill. Like a prettier, cleaner version of the coal dust that settles on everything in 12. But it won't be pretty for long. When it finally settles it will turn a mushy gray color from the coal dust. Nevertheless, it's a reminder that I have things to do today, and my moping time is over.

I stand up, almost falling. I catch myself on the back of the chair. Even after months, I'm still not used to my leg being gone. I stand up sometimes, and forget I'm missing a leg. I'll fall if I'm not wearing the prosthetic. I'll just go to take the next step, and there's nothing there to catch my weight.

I walk to the kitchen, shiny and new and never used by anyone before me. It's big. Almost too big. The distance I have to walk to get from counter to counter is not something I'm used to. But the oven is nice. The oven makes it easy to bake, because I don't have to start a fire first. The electricity does it for me. But sometimes I miss the work. That's when I go over to the bakery and help out there. My father tells me I'm always welcome. He loves having me around again, especially considering he never thought he'd see me alive again after the reaping. But my mother and my brothers, that's a different story. My brothers are indifferent. My mother, now…now I can honestly say I think she hates me.

I get out the ingredients to make some bread, and as much as I try to push it out of my head while I work it worms its way in there anyway. Though my mother has long been a source of both anxiety, anger, sadness…and a lot of other confused feelings, now things are a lot simpler. Because she has a reason to hate me. She hates that I won the Games. Well, maybe not that I won, because when they announced our Victory I'm told by my brother that he actually saw her tear up and she had to leave the room.

But I never saw it. And as far as I'm concerned, if I didn't see it might as well not have even happened. Because now she treats me with a cool, sneering indifference. It's not like she'll flat out kick me out of the bakery, but it's the little comments she'll slide in that let me know how she really feels. Like,_ "_Oh, I see you've decided to join us commoners for a while." Or "How's that fancy house in the Victor's Village?" and maybe the worst, "How's that girlfriend of yours?" These are just a few examples, paraphrased into nicer words. Sometimes they're a lot more vicious. Particularly the ones about Katniss.

I slap the dough onto the counter, a little harder than I meant to. Flour puffs up and hits me in the face. Annoyed, I wipe my face on my sleeve, and start to knead the dough angrily. I think irritably that it probably isn't so much my semi-relationship with Katniss that's got her hating me, although that's part of it. I think it's more to do with that I told the whole of Panem she was not my father's first choice for a wife. Because ultimately, all her motivations are selfish. And the way she was portrayed on national television was not one that encourages a positive reputation. I'm told she's become quite the source of gossip in town.

It's funny, really, because though Katniss and myself is all people in the Capitol can talk about (aside from getting their hair done and what to wear and what meal they'll stuff themselves with next, etc. etc.), it was an act that was quite clearly seen through in District 12. Gossip about us has long since died out, especially since we've barely exchanged two words with each other since the cameras left and everyone in town knows this. The hotter topic of conversation is Katniss and Gale.

_Gale. _Just his name leaves a bad taste in my mouth. She's spent more time with Gale in the woods than she has with me since we've returned. And that's saying something, as they can only meet every Sunday now that he's gone to work in the mines. I almost feel sorry for him. Because I've never had to face the prospect of working in the mines. But I've been down there before. We take annual field trips at school. I hate it down there. It's dark and stuffy, and the place just seems haunted by misery along with the dead.

I put the dough in shiny new pans, set them aside to rise. While I wait, I make cookies. These are quick and easy and out of the oven in fifteen minutes. I put them aside to cool and place the soon-to-be bread in the oven. Then I start to frost the cookies. I make them extra-pretty today. They're for Mrs. Everdeen and Prim and Katniss, though I don't plan on dropping them off while Katniss is there. I frost a different flower on each cookie. This effectively clears my head. A primrose on one for Prim, a pond lily, a tiger lily. I start to make a white rose but it gives me the chills halfway through and I scrap it because it reminds me of President Snow. I hastily start to create a hibiscus flower.

When I've finished I pause to admire my handiwork. They look so delicious that I sneak an unfrosted one. I'm allowed to do that now that my livelihood doesn't depend on them. It tastes as good as it looks. It only took a few days for me to get used to fresh bread on a daily basis. I never plan to go back to eating stale now that I know what it's like. My family won't ever have to eat stale bread again, either. My mother won't take my money, but my father doesn't question it. He knows he's doing me a favor by taking it. It'd be even more difficult to live with myself than it already is if I let my family eat stale bread while I practically gorge myself in comparison.

I take the bread out of the oven, let it cool while I carefully package up the cookies. Then I wrap the two loaves of bread in cloth. I put my coat on, tuck the lot under my arm, and head out the front door.

I have to be careful on the ice, as I'm in danger of slipping with my leg. I walk in the thin layer of crunchy snow as often as possible. Thankfully the trip between my house and Katniss's is relatively short. I knock on the front door and Prim answers.

"Peeta!" she says, grinning at me and giving me a hug. I grin back and return the hug. In the short time I've gotten to know her, Prim and I have gotten on fabulously. She's one of those people that you can't help liking, that you can't help but automatically love. And I'm told I'm one of those people you can't really hate, so it's natural that we've become friends. Seeing Prim has become one of the few joys in my life, because she's so full of life and young and happy. And I can understand perfectly why Katniss volunteered for her. Because if there's one place Primrose Everdeen does not belong anywhere near, it's the arena.

"How are you, Prim?" I say as she invites me in. She's been let out of school early for the event today.

"Good, excited," she says. She seems slightly distracted and eyes the snow on me wearily. "I'd take your boots off if I were you."

"Why?"

"Because—"

"Don't you dare take one step on my clean floors, Peeta!" says a voice. I look around to see Mrs. Everdeen rushing to me, holding out an arm to stop me from trodding snow all over her immaculate floor. She must have been cleaning all night for the cameras.

"Don't worry," I say. "I just came to drop off some bread, and a surprise for Prim."

"Oh!" exclaims Prim excitedly. "What is it?"

I hold out the package of cookies for her and she opens them. Her face lights up when she sees them.

"They're so pretty, Peeta!" she says. "Too pretty to eat!"

"No. They're made for eating, looking pretty is an added bonus," I say, laughing. "Don't let them go stale!"

She hesitantly raises her hand, and as I expected the first thing she goes for is the primrose. She doesn't eat it, but admires it instead. I rewrap the rest of the cookies and give them and a loaf of bread to Mrs. Everdeen.

"The other one's for Haymitch. Wish me luck," I say. She laughs at this, because really, when you go over to Haymitch's house you need all the luck you can get. She leaves to go put the food in the kitchen. Prim and I have a good-bye hug, and she surprises me when she gives me a light peck on the cheek.

"What's that for?" I ask her.

"You looked like you needed it," she answers. And I can't help but smile at her smile. Prim then pulls me down a bit to her level so she can speak in a quieter tone. "The tour could be your opportunity to fix things with Katniss, you know."

I sigh. I'm hardly looking forward to pretending to be in love as is. I don't know if when I kiss her again, it will even feel the same for me because I know she's faking it for the cameras. How can I possibly do this, pretend we're desperately in love when we're not? And I know I'll be picking up all the slack, because our lopsided relationship has, since the moment I announced I was in love with her on national television, rested on my shoulders to survive. So we could survive. And it has to continue, I can't give it up. Because I'm not stupid. I know we're in danger for our stunt with the berries. I can't continue to be the heartbroken wreck of a man I have been. I'll have to suck it up to keep us both safe. But in private? It'd be a bit hard to do, considering we can barely look at one another.

"I don't know, Prim. I don't know if it's fixable. She doesn't feel the same way I do. She's just doing it for the cameras."

"Then just be friends," she answers easily, as though she was expecting this.

"How can we just be friends when we have to act like we're in love?"

"When there aren't cameras around," says Prim. Then she looks at me anxiously, puts a hand on my arm. "I hate seeing you two like this. Promise me you'll try, please?"

Anyone who knows Prim knows it's almost impossible to say 'no' to her. So I find myself nodding.

"Okay, Prim."

"Better get that bread to Haymitch," she says. I nod again, and open the door. The blast of cold air hits me and goosebumps rise on my exposed skin. I'm at the front steps when Prim calls my name again. "Oh, and Peeta? Enjoy your tour."

The short walk to Haymitch's house is a bit trickier than my walk to the Everdeen's. There's more ice. I slip twice and nearly fall the second. When I arrive at the end of the sidewalk I see the light, small tracks of footprints and I know exactly who I'll find inside. Even though seeing Katniss is the last thing I want to do right now, we might as well get it out of the way before everyone arrives and we're on camera.

The front door's open, so I just walk in. It's not that unusual when you live in a neighborhood with only five residents. The stench of Haymitch's filth hits my nose and I wrinkle it in disgust. The place seems even filthier than usual compared to Mrs. Everdeen's sparkling clean house. I stomp the snow off my shoes at the door, though a bit of snow will hardly make any difference with the litter of wrappings, broken glass and animal bones on the floor.

"…should have asked Peeta," says an all-too familiar voice. I swallow hard, and force myself into the confrontation.

"Asked me what?" I ask, entering the room. Katniss is perched on the window sill, ready to make a quick exit. Haymitch is spluttering, and he's soaking wet. His knife that he sleeps with is clutched in his hand and I understand why Katniss is at the window. I walk to the table, set the bread on top, and hold out my hand for his knife.

"Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife. I smirk at this, imagining Katniss dumping water on Haymitch to wake him up. I'm only sad I missed seeing that. Haymitch takes off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally soiled undershirt, and rubs himself down with the dry parts.

I pick up a bottle of white alcohol on the floor and douse the knife with it to sanitize it somewhat. Just being in Haymitch's house makes me feel filthy and I'm not about to put anything so disgusting in good food. I wipe the blade clean on my shirt and start slicing the bread. I hand the heel to Haymitch, and turn to look at Katniss properly for the first time. My stomach twists unpleasantly and my heart starts to race when our eyes meet.

"Would you like a piece?" I ask her.

"No, I ate at the Hob," she says. Her voice is stiff and formal. "But thank you."

"You're welcome," I say, just as stiffly. This is more awkward than I thought it'd be.

Haymitch tosses his shirt somewhere into the mess. "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime."

I frown at him. He's right, of course. We both know that. It goes without saying. So the fact that he has said it irritates me

"Take a bath, Haymitch," says Katniss, and swings herself out the window and drops to the ground. I watch her walk to her house before turning back to Haymitch. He really is filthy.

"What?" he says, seeing my look.

"She's right. You do need a bath." He rolls his eyes. I set the knife back down on the table. "Eat that," I say, pointing to the bread. Before he can say another word I'm out the door.

The second I step into the street I know something is wrong. For one, it'd be hard to miss the shiny black car parked just outside the gates of the village. It goes without saying that this is no one from District 12. That car is from the Capitol.

And seeing as how no one in our team is supposed to arrive till noon, it's a good bet to assume this is not any of them. Besides, this seems too off. I feel a slight touch of fear. The car door opens, and a man in a dark, straight black suit with sharp angles steps out. I watch as he walks up the street to Katniss's house. Then he spots me watching him.

"I think it's time you went home now," he says. I notice the bulge on his hip that his clothes do not quite cover. My heart begins to pound. What is this man in a suit with a gun doing outside Katniss's home? Why are there people from the Capitol here? Is Katniss in danger?

These are questions I do not get any answers to, because the man has just pulled back his jacket, his hand twitching towards his gun…

And I don't need to be told twice.


	22. Part I: The Spark

2

The minute I'm safe behind the door of my own house I rush upstairs where there's a better view, and watch the street around Katniss's house anxiously. The man who's some kind of guard or agent or special brand of Peacekeeper is standing right outside their door.

My anxiety increases as the minutes tick by. I can't stand nothing happening and yet I'm terrified that something will. What is going to happen? Why are they here? Are they going to take Katniss away…kill her?

My fingernails dig into the windowsill.

I know just how dangerous the situation is. I know Snow could kill us all, our families, us, everyone in 12, if he wanted to. And I also know Snow is not happy about our stunt with the berries. And let's face it, it seemed entirely too rebellious for us not to be in danger. Because any threat to Snow's authority must be squashed. And we are that.

I'm terrified for Katniss. Because it was her idea and she's the one for Snow to punish. She's the instigator. Even though we both would have eaten those berries, no one doubts that I acted out of love. Katniss, though, that's another story. She was already too rebellious. Her natural personality is rebellious, the girl on fire. Fire is wild. Fire is uncontrollable. And if there's one thing the Capitol doesn't like, it's people out of their control.

The only way Snow can control Katniss is to threaten the ones she loves. Prim. Gale. Her mother. Even Haymitch and myself. Is this what they are doing over there? Threatening her?

_They can't kill her, _I remind myself forcibly, _not on the day the tour starts._

This thought should be comforting, but it's not. I can't relax. I can't even move. I'm paralyzed, standing poker-stiff, glued to the window and watching the unchanged scene outside. I wait.

I jump when Katniss's front door opens. A strange mix of relief and terror grips me. Out steps another of those Capitol peacekeepers. And someone else. Someone who grips me with an unnatural fear.

President Snow.

3

They step into the car. The soft sound of the engine coming to life reverberates around the houses, sounding unnatural, out-of-place. It pulls out of the village, disappearing over the hill. And only a single thought registers.

_What the hell was President Snow doing here?_

It's extremely unusual. I've never even seen Snow outside the Capitol. Never. I'm not even sure I'm seen him anywhere other than his mansion and behind a podium draped in flags. Not on any victory tour have I seen President Snow visit the Victor beforehand in any of the Districts. He stays in the Capitol. He attends parties in the Capitol. Period.

So what was he doing here?

There's only one answer to that. We're in a lot more danger than I thought. There's no doubt that's what Snow was doing over there now. He was threatening her. A visit from Snow himself proves just how much he did not like our stunt with the berries.

I start to pace. The floor creaks under my uneven footsteps.

I'll just have to be extra-good on the tour. That's all. No pretending. Flat-out in love with her. Regardless of our current icy relationship. I'll have to be utterly and totally in love with her and show it to keep us all safe. And I hope Katniss realizes this, too, because if we don't pull this off then we're all screwed. We have to convince Snow that we were driven crazy at the thought of being without each other when we held out those berries. That it was not an act of rebellion. Not a smack in the face of the Capitol. And it definitely had nothing to do with being more than just a piece in their Games.

I come to an abrupt halt when there's a knock on my door. I glance at the clock. It's a half hour before noon and at first I worry that it's President Snow, come to threaten me, too. But no, it turns out it's just my prep team, come early to make me decent-looking enough to face the cameras.

"Surprise!" they squeal, and I'm pulled into suffocating hugs. Portia, who lingers behind the multicolored style team, smiles apologetically before embracing me into a much calmer hug of her own.

"Peeta, your hair!" says the green one.

"Your eyebrows!" the purple one gasps at the state of my eyebrows, which had almost started to grow back in normally.

"When was the last time you shaved? You could bury a person in that thing!"

This is not strictly speaking true, it's just a bit of hair. I haven't shaved in a few days.

"You can't show up on camera in this state!"

And I'm whisked upstairs to be plucked, shaved, showered and waxed mercilessly by my prep team. Thankfully they leave everything below the neck alone. When I come out again feeling like a plucked bird, Portia's there waiting for me with clothes. Very nice clothes, too. I haven't worn clothes that fancy wince I left the Capitol. Black pants, a soft gray shirt and black jacket. Shiny black boots. I frown when I see they don't have any treads. I'm guaranteed to slip on the ice. The clothes are warm, though. Made of soft wool. Already I'm feeling toasty.

Just as Portia is tucking my tie up Effie Trinket knocks on the door and lets herself in. Her wig is now bright orange instead of the pink it was during the Games.

"Are you paintings ready, Peeta?" she asks briskly, her eyes on her watch and a clipboard clasped in her perfectly manicured hands.

"Yeah, they're all set up in the study," I answer.

And then I'm being dragged out of my room and into the study where the cameras await to film me about my talent. Unlike Katniss I actually have one. We're required to have a talent since we aren't required to go to school anymore and we don't have to work, and they don't really count hunting illegally. So Katniss has her pretend talent of fashion design (Cinna does all the real work), and I have my paints.

I paint all sorts of things. They're very hyper-realistic. It's almost disturbing how close to reality they look. And they're dynamic, too. Everything from bread, to paintings of Katniss in the cave, to the boy from 7 getting beheaded by Cato, and my knife in the boy from five's throat.

Needless to say, I've hidden the more disturbing ones away in the closet.

I don't really want the whole of Panem to know just how messed up I am. That I can hardly sleep at night and when I do it's with disturbing nightmares. I try painting out what I see in my mind because I think it helps. But it doesn't always. Not really. I will never be able to get out of my head what I've been through. What I've done.

So I've left the cleaner ones out on display. And the ones I know will help us survive. The ones of Katniss are everywhere. Katniss by the stream…Katniss with her bow…a detailed close-up painting of her braid. I'd been experimenting to get hair just right and hers just turned into the subject. There's also paintings of flowers and nice, innocent things. But I've also left out a few paintings from the Games, and that was before I knew we were in too much danger to do that. Like the berries. Like the painting of Rue shrouded in flowers. I barely managed to stuff them in the closet before the cameras turn on.

Effie leaves early on once she's done with her bit but not before telling me to bring some of the paintings of Katniss and the ones of the Games that I stuffed in the closet with me. Then she tells me to head outside when I'm done to do the outdoor shot where Katniss and I will greet before heading on the tour.

When at last the cameras switch off for the moment and the sound team's done recording me we head to the front door where Portia waits with a coat, gloves and a scarf. I'm going to need them because the snow has started to come down in earnest.

Here it is. The moment. The minute I walk out my front door is when I have to convince the world that Katniss and myself are completely, madly in love. No rebellious thoughts against the Capitol are allowed. If I think them, I might say them. And then we'd all be really, _really_ screwed because it would just prove to Snow that we were inciting rebellion by holding out those berries.

I take a deep, steadying breath. Cameras. Big smile. We're madly in love. Act like it. I walk out my front door.

It's hard to see at first because the snow is so thick. Then I can just make out the people coming out her front door, her in the lead. When she sees me her face breaks into a huge grin. I'll admit, even though I know it's all for the cameras, my heart skips a beat at that and euphoria fills me when she starts to run to me as though she can't stand it another second. She throws herself in my arms and I spin her around, grinning like nothing else in the world matters besides us two.

But I'm unsteady on my leg and the tread-less boots do not help, so I slip and we fall into the snow, her on top of me. And then we kiss for the first time in months. It's full of fur and lipstick and snowflakes, but it's her. It's Katniss and we're kissing again and it's so wonderful I could sing. And I know no matter what happens, no matter how badly I've been hurt by her, I will never condemn her with a half-hearted kiss. I will always look out for her. I will do everything in my power to protect her. And if kissing's what it takes to get the job done then who am I to complain? Kissing's great. Kissing is way better than having a knife stabbed in my thigh to protect her.

At last we break apart. She pulls me to my feet, and tucks her glove through the crook of my arm. She's unusually merry and this reminds me that it was for the show. But the sinking feeling of disappointment isn't as intense as it normally is because I'm just happy I'm allowed to talk to her and touch her again and see her smile.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of getting to the station, bidding everyone good-bye. The train pulls out and soon we're whizzing across the country at 200 mph and having dinner with the old team. And then I'm in my room in soft pajamas surrounded by some of my more disturbing paintings. I turn every one of them around except for just one, my favorite painting of Katniss.

Somehow I'm able to drift asleep to the gentle rocking of the train.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:**_ I'm so sorry for the long wait! I really felt like I needed a break, and besides that I had all these ideas for later chapters/scenes (in particular Peeta's highjacking and the interview for the Quell) bouncing around in my head and I had to write them out, so this chapter kinda got put on the backburner. I'm also in the process of coming up with a decent idea (got one, at last) to write and publish on Amazon self-publishing. Don't bother looking for it yet . . . it's only a page long right now and just an idea. But know it's in my head and I plan to write and publish! _

_And I also came up with an idea another HG fanfic, one about Gale. Because even though I'm a Peeta shipper all the way, I love Gale's character and I really feel for the guy. Just got scribbles now, but I plan on typing up something good and posting it!_

_I can't decide which is more pathetic…that I'm on fanfiction so often to check for reviews or that I visit fanfiction more than I do facebook :/_

_And on that enigmatic note, enjoy the chapter!_

_**I don't own the Hunger Games trilogy! **__Though I'll be the first to admit I do borrow quotes quite a bit more than I should from the series. But honestly, you can't expect me to change all the dialogue around (for one I hate that, it's so distracting) and for another some of the things have to be taken almost directly from the book because there's no way to write them better than they already are : )_

_Okay, done now for reals. Happy reading!_

* * *

><p><span>4<span>

I'm startled awake from a terrible nightmare where Katniss is eaten by mutts and I'm too late to save her. For a minute I forget where I am and I sit up in a panic, staring around at the surroundings before it comes back to me and my heart slows to its normal pace. I fall back into the pillows and close my eyes tightly.

My ears register the sound of footsteps. Two pairs, though one is almost silent. I can't bring myself to get out of bed to eavesdrop at my door. Besides, they're not speaking yet and when I do hear the voice speak it sounds like Haymitch he doesn't bother to keep his voice down.

"You could do a lot worse, you know," he says. His heavy footsteps fade away then I hear a door shut near mine. Katniss.

That's weird. What were Haymitch and Katniss doing out on a midnight stroll? What were they discussing that they couldn't talk about in front of me? Or the Capitol? They're keeping secrets from me again, no doubt. But what did that last part mean? _You could do a lot worse_. Worse than what?

The train starts up again and I start at the sound and movement. I hadn't realized we'd stopped. I'm awful jumpy tonight.

I try and fail to fall back asleep, but after about an hour or two I realize it's not going to happen. I get out of bed and assemble my arsenal of painting supplies. Without really thinking about what I'm going to paint I go for the red and start smearing paint in the center of the canvas. That needs some purple. Dark red. Peach. Brown. Yellow. White. Black. Before I know it I'm staring at the nightlock berries cupped in my hand. Hmm. That seems to be on my mind a lot lately.

I put my paints away and slip into the bathroom to wash the colors off my hands and arms. I'm struck by the similarity to the paints and how flour will get all over my hands at the end of a long day of work. As I watch all the colors drain away exhaustion sets in. Thank God. I might get some sleep if I can't even keep my eyes open. I dry my hands and collapse into bed and sure enough I'm out like a light.

I sleep till noon.

It's the most sleep I've gotten since long before the Games. The nightmares were only minimal. Just shit about missing legs. That I can deal with. That I can sleep through. What I can't sleep through is losing Katniss.

I shower. When I get out my prep team's there waiting for me and I have to stifle a groan because the amount of products they have with them suggest I'll be getting more done than a hairstyle and some makeup.

And I'm right. Today I get the works. That awful-smelling cream they placed on my face before the arena is back to stop my facial hair from growing. "Portia doesn't want you to get razor bumps," they explain. "Otherwise we wouldn't bother." I also get my nails completely done and get striped of body hair anywhere I'm apparently 'not supposed to have it.' But thankfully it doesn't take that long to finish me up because I don't require prepping the way I did before the arena. Nobody expects to see me naked on this trip. I also get another haircut.

"Thank God we got you, Peeta," they talk while they work. "If we got Katniss we'd have to get up at eight! Can you imagine?"

_Yes, how horrible, _I think drily. For me, for most of District Twelve and probably most of Panem, getting up at eight means you got to sleep in.

Then it's time for lunch. Everyone's there but Katniss and her prep team. Cinna explains they'll probably be a bit longer so we start without them. When they do arrive they all look exhausted and Katniss looks absolutely miserable despite, or maybe because of, the beautifying she'd just been through all morning. She doesn't speak and she doesn't look at me. Any attempt to bring her into the conversation is useless. She doesn't even eat, just plays with her food. Huh. That's weird. It's not like Katniss not to have an appetite. There's more to her moroseness than just her body being abused by her prep team, I think.

The train has to stop for repairs. We'll be stopped for at least an hour. This sends Effie into a state over the time schedule. It's annoying, but it doesn't really warrant any anger. Which is what Katniss does, snaps at Effie.

"No one cares, Effie!" she says irritably. Everyone at the table stares at her like she's said something incredibly rude. Katniss doesn't apologize, either, which really makes me think something's up. She looks around the table, seeking for anyone on her side. "Well, no one does!" she defends, and gets up angrily to leave the dining car. A few moments later an alarm goes off.

"Goddammit," says Haymitch through gritted teeth. He's been nursing a hangover and I'm sure the last thing he wants to do is babysit Katniss.

"I'll go after her," I say, and leave the dining car as well. I see a door to the outside left ajar. That must be where Katniss went. Sure enough when I step outside and look around I see her lithe form following the curve of the tracks to the end of the train, shoulder hunched, pace quick in anger or simply a bad mood. I follow her at a distance. After a few hundred yards she stops and sinks to the ground. It takes me a few minutes to catch up with her and when I do she doesn't even look around. I know she can hear me. I'm so loud I scare off all the game, according to Katniss. Of course she can hear me.

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture," she warns me.

"I'll try to keep it brief," I say, and take a seat beside her.

"I thought you were Haymitch," she explains.

"No, he's still working on that muffin." I position my artificial leg into a more comfortable position. "Bad day, huh?" I ask her.

"It's nothing," she says.

I take a deep breath, and it all spills from me without me even thinking about it. Maybe it's because it's the first time we've actually been alone on at least speaking terms in months, or maybe it was my promise to Prim. But I have to try to make things right. And the first step in making things right is to apologize.

"Look, Katniss, I've been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train," I say. "I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn't fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I'm sorry."

She looks surprised, recovers quickly, then a crease appears between her brows. She's confused.

"I'm sorry, too," she says, somewhat sadly.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about." I've told myself this over and over again in the past few months and I'm finally starting to believe them. I know they're true, and I have no right at all to hold a grudge against her for her hurting me. "You were just keeping us alive," I say. Just like my leg. She inadvertently ends up hurting me to keep me alive. Well, I can't really blame her for that. I know how she feels. Unfortunately. I know that if she died I'd never forgive myself, and I know she feels the same on that. But I also know I'm hopelessly in love with her, and in that category we're not on the same page. Hell, we're not even in the same book.

So maybe I take Prim's advice. Worth a shot, isn't it? To try and be friends. "But I don't want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there's a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being just friends."

Friends. Just friends. Like Prim said. The concept depresses me a bit, because I know, as Katniss surely knows, that we can never be just friends. Not when everyone expects more out of us and our safety lies in that. But in private? Everyone's gotta start somewhere, I guess. And friends is better than not speaking.

"Okay," says Katniss. And she does look a bit less like she's carrying the world on her shoulders. But it's still there. She looks so sad and beaten down and I know she's hiding something from me.

"So what's wrong?" I ask.

Yup. Katniss is definitely hiding something from me. She bites her lip, doesn't answer, and picks at a clump of weeds. Telltale signs.

"Let's start with something more basic," I say, knowing I'm not going to get anywhere questioning her about it. I'd better stick to small talk. Or no…something better than small talk. I think back to my childhood and making early friends. And what's one of the first questions you ask someone you want to be friends with? "Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your like to save mine…but I don't know what your favorite color is?"

This makes her smile. It's so genuine that I feel a touch of joy. Katniss rarely smiles so easily, unless she's around Prim. It's good to coax one out of her.

"Green," she answers. Ah. I should've known that. With all the time she spends in the woods, surrounded by living green plants, how could her favorite color not be green? "What's yours?"

"Orange," I answer automatically.

"Orange? Like Effie's hair?"

Eh, blech, _no_ not like Effie's hair. "A bit more muted. More like…sunset."

Sunset. I've painted sunsets several times, and the orange paint is my absolute favorite. The color is so unlike any other smeared on the canvas. It makes me feel happy and calm. There's nothing quite like it. The color orange is just so awesome.

"You know, everyone's always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven't seen them," says Katniss.

That's easily remedied.

"Well, I've got a whole train car full," I tell her. I rise and offer her my hand. "Come on."

It feels so good to feel her fingers entwined with mine again. Like something's been missing. Something real, not for show but in friendship.

Huh. Maybe Prim was onto something there.

We walk back to the train hand in hand, and for the first time in months I feel a bit of real happiness.

"I've got to apologize to Effie first," says Katniss when we reach the door.

"Don't be afraid to lay it on thick," I tell her.

She does lay it on pretty thick, and Effie accepts graciously. Katniss really gets off pretty easy, considering it's Effie.

When her lectures about _someone_ needing to attend to the schedule are finished I lead Katniss to my room. I watch as Katniss looks at all the pictures I've painted of the Games. Her faces registers shock, confusion. Then something unreadable.

"What do you think?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

"I hate them," she answers, her brows drawn together, her bottom lip sticking out in a slight pout. "All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you've brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?"

"I see them every night," I answer, trying and failing to push my most recent nightmare out of my head. It's clear Katniss, too, suffers from nightmares, from the way her eyes close, her lips purse, her shoulders stiffen.

"Me, too," she says, confirming my suspicion. "Does it help? To paint them out?"

"I don't know," I answer. "I think I'm a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am. But they haven't gone anywhere."

"Maybe they won't," says Katniss. "Haymitch's haven't."

It's true. Haymitch always sleeps with a knife, and he doesn't even like to sleep in the dark. I can't say I blame him.

"No. But for me, it's better to wake up with a paint-brush than a knife in my hand. So you really hate them?" I say, suddenly concerned.

"Yes. But they're extraordinary. Really," she says, and I feel better. "Want to see my talent? Cinna did a great job on it."

This makes me laugh. "Later," I say. I don't really need to see Cinna's designs, after all. I'll probably end up seeing them all on this tour anyway. The train lurches forward and we start to speed along again. "Come on, we're almost to District Eleven," I tell Katniss. "Let's go take a look at it."

We go down to the last car on the train, where there are couches and chairs to sit on, and the back windows retract into the ceiling so it's like we're riding outside in the fresh air. The place is all windows and we can see a wide sweep of the landscape.

It's changed dramatically from 12, from mountains and trees and snow to flat plains, with tall golden grasses waving in the wind. I don't have to be outside to know the temperature outside has raised several degrees. I think they used to call this place Oklahoma, but I'm not sure. It could have been called Kansas or Nebraska. Or maybe it was all three. It's certainly big enough. Whatever it was called, it's called District 11 now. Hm. Seems we lost any ability for naming things creatively when we set up the current system of Capitol and Districts. I realize giving something a name makes it seems a lot less depressing.

The train slows slightly. A fence rises up before us. It's not like the fence in 12. It's at least fifteen feet higher, topped with coils of barbed wire, based on metal plates. Watchtowers manned with armed guards. There's no question that this fence is always on.

"That's something different," I say, slightly shocked. Katniss doesn't answer, just watches with wide eyes.

The crops begin, an endless sea of corn and beans and grain and leafy colored plants. Men, woman and children work in the fields, wearing straw hats to keep the sun off their necks. They turn to look at the train as it passes before going back to work. Small clumps of shacks are dotted here and there. By comparison the bakery is a mansion, Katniss's house in the Seam an upscale residence. It's almost pathetic, how these people live. I immediately feel pity and anger. Not at them, but at the Capitol. And the people, all the people! There's enough to populate 12 twelve times over.

"How many people do you think live here?" I ask. Katniss merely shakes her head. She doesn't know, either. At school they only tell us it's a large district, nothing more. No numbers. I'm surprised the reaping balls don't overfill with names come reaping day judging by what I've seen. And I can't imagine that these people _don't _have to sign up for tesserae, given the way they live, even if they are the provider of Panem's agricultural food supply. I realize how lucky I am, to live in a District where we go pretty much unnoticed. Where neglect becomes our ally and we're able to get away with things like hunting illegally and the fence never being on.

The fields stretch on and on. Effie comes to tell us to dress, and neither of us object. I go to my compartment. My prep team arranges my hair and dabs make-up on my skin to cover any flaws. Portia dresses me in dark-wash jeans that breathe more than the ones I wore during our last interview in the Capitol and a yellow button-down shirt. Katniss comes out wearing an orange frock. I like my favorite color on her. It suits her.

Effie gathers Katniss and I together and goes over the day's program again. In other Districts we'd be riding through the city, but in 11 where everything is so spread out and most of the population can't be spared away from the harvest, the public appearance will take place in the square, the place before the Justice Building. District 11's Justice Building is in worse shape than ours. The place is crumbling, ivy overtaking the stones, the roof sagging. At least ours is mostly intact, just covered in coal dust. The square is ringed with run-down storefronts. You can tell most of them have been abandoned and I wonder if District 11 even has a well-to-do population.

Our appearance will be staged outside the verandah. We'll be introduced, the mayor of 11 will read a speech in our honor, and we will—or rather, most likely I will—read a scripted thank-you provided by the Capitol. It's considered good form to say something personal if we had any special alliance with any of that District's tributes. So Katniss should say something about Rue. But I know she hasn't. Katniss is entirely unscripted. She most likely sat down to write something and nothing came up. I sort-of expected this and have something written up already, and with some slight alterations it works for both of us. I also have something else in mind. Maybe it was seeing the pitiful condition of District 11 that spurred the idea, but I don't mention it. Quite frankly, I don't even know if it's allowed but it will be a lot harder for them to say _no _once it's already done, and I'm hesitant, given our precarious position with the Capitol. We'll be given a plaque, and then we'll be served a special dinner in the Justice Building.

As the train is pulling into the station Portia tucks in my shirt, Cinna swaps out Katniss's orange headband for a gold one, and pins Katniss's mockingjay pin on her dress. There's no warm welcome waiting for us on the platform, but instead a squad of Peacekeepers who direct us into the back of an armored truck.

"Really, you're think we were all criminals," sniffs Effie when the doors close behind us.

It's a short trip to the Justice Building, and the Peacekeepers hurry us inside once the truck lets us off. I can smell a delicious meal cooking, unable to cover up the smell of mildew and rot. They leave us no time to look around. We head straight towards the front entrance. As the anthem begins someone clips a microphone on both myself and Katniss and it acts like a switch over into public-mode. I take Katniss's hand. The mayor introduces us, and the massive doors open with a groaning sound.

"Big smiles!" says Effie, giving us a nudge. We walk forward. Katniss grips my hand a little tighter. There's a loud applause, but nothing of the sort we get in the Capitol with the cheers and whoops and whistles. But I don't mind. These people live a hard life, just like us. Worse than us, I think. We walk across the shaded, tiled verandah until we're standing in front of the crowd in the bright sunlight on a flight of marble stairs. The buildings have been draped with banners to cover up their neglected state. The square is packed with people, but it can only a fraction of the number that live here.

A platform for the families of the dead tributes has been constructed at the bottom of the stage as usual. There's an old woman with a hunched back and a tall, muscular girl that can only be Thresh's sister and grandmother. Rue's family is much bigger. She has five younger siblings that resemble her closely and their faces along with their parents' are fresh with sorrow. I can feel their pain even raised so high above them.

The applause dies out and the mayor gives the speech in our honor. Two little girls come up and give us bouquets of flowers. I do my scripted reply and Katniss concludes it, sounding like she's learned the thing by heart, something that can only be her mother and Prim's doing. I don't need to pull out my card for the personal comments, I know them well.

"Thresh and Rue were both very good people, very skilled, too, as they made it to the final eight. They helped keep Katniss alive, and through her myself. And for that I thank them, and their families. We owe you and your children a debt we can never repay. But . . ." I hesitate, look at Rue's family. Vastly underfed, all of them. They look up at me with sad eyes that resemble Rue's. Young, innocent Rue. Following us around. Buried in flowers. Killed by the Games. By the Capitol. And it's that that stirs me into action. I make a decision on the spot. "It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we'd like for each of the tributes' families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives."

The crowd responds with gasps and murmurs. What I've done is unprecedented. But it was worth it, because I can see the gratitude and appreciation for my gift in their families' eyes. One month of a Victor's winnings can easily keep a family—even one as large as Rue's—in bread and home for a year. As long as we're alive, they will not go hungry. And one more good thing has come out of us winning the Games. One more good thing to come out of all the terrible things we've done.

Katniss looks at me and I give her a small, sad smile. She looks utterly speechless, truly grateful. And when she rises up on tiptoe to kiss me it's not forced at all. The kiss lingers and my heart gives that flip it's so fond of doing whenever Katniss is around.

The mayor steps forward, and we're both presented with plaques. The ceremony's about to end and we're being ushered off the stage when Katniss stops dead, her eyes on one of Rue's siblings.

"Wait!" she says, stumbling forward, the plaque pressed to her chest. I follow behind her and everyone pauses to listen to Katniss speak. Her time's up, but she hasn't spoken much. I'm surprised at this. I didn't think she would, I thought she'd be too numb and sad to say anything. "Wait, please," she says, looking like she doesn't know how to start. I can't bail her out on this one. It's all her. And something tells me she would never forgive me if I interrupted her.

"I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," she says. She looks over to Thresh's family. "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own." She's steering into dangerous waters here, but I'm just as mesmerized by her as everyone else in the square. There's no stopping her. "The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that."

Katniss has brought a smile to the old woman's lips. And I can tell, by the hushed silence of the crowd, that she's doing that thing again, that thing where she has no idea the effect she's having. She is stirring these people with her words, her emotions, the sincerity of it. As skilled with speech as I am, it's nothing compared to when Katniss is impromptu like this.

She turns to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I do know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim." Her voice starts to shake, and the emotion radiating off her fills the whole crowd. Fills me. I feel hope and sadness, and most of all, a desire for change. "Thank you for your children," she says. Then she raises her chin, addresses the whole crowd. "And thank you all for the bread."

Katniss stands silent, all eyes on her. The crowd is utterly silent. And then from somewhere in the crowd someone whistles Rue's four-note tune. The reaction to this is no accident. It's too well executed to be spontaneous. In perfect unison, every single person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and extends them to her. Our sign from District 12.

Instead of stunned and moved by this planned public salute like I am, Katniss stiffens, her eyes wide with something akin to fear, her mouth moving soundlessly, trying to come up with words to change this. I take her by the hand and pull her back, trying to prevent her from saying anything to ruin the moment. I hear the slight burst of static and know both our microphones have been cut off, anyway. The mayor takes over and a final round of applause is given to us. I lead Katniss back to the doors, but she looks like she's about to faint. Her pupils dilate and the blood drains from her face.

"Are you all right?" I ask her.

"Just dizzy. The sun was so bright," she says, but I can tell she's lying. The sun was not bright enough to cause her to look like she's ill. And she's not the type to faint at the sun. "I forgot my flowers," she mumbles, noticing mine.

"I'll get them," I say, concerned if she goes back she's going to faint in front of the whole of Eleven even if the color is returning to her face.

"I can," she answers. But we both go, anyway.

And we shouldn't have. We would have been safe inside the Justice Building, if we hadn't stopped, if Katniss hadn't forgotten her flowers. But instead when we turn we see the whole horrible scene play out before us.

A pair of Peacekeepers dragging an old man, presumably the one who whistled, to the top of the steps. Force him to his knees before the crowd. And putting a bullet through his skull.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/n:**_ I am so, so sorry for the long wait! My brain seems to want to come up with ideas all out of order and in stories that have nothing to do with this one. Blech. So finally I forced myself to sit down and type this chapter up, and I hope it was worth it…I hope you enjoy it, that is, and appreciate all my … well, not hard work but more like dragging myself out of my laziness. All for my wonderful readers and reviewers._

_Speaking of which, since I've put this off for far too long as is, I'd like to thank all of the people who have been so kind to take the time to review this story. I'm so extremely happy (and proud) that we've reached the 100 review mark…every single one of them awesome, positive, and encouraging. Feels incredible to know you all love my story so much! I'm kinda needy when it comes to reinforcement and knowing I've done a good job (I feel hesitant writing even that because I'm not entirely sure I _have_ done a good job) Eh, whatever. I blame my generation for that one._

_Even if I don't answer all your reviews, you should all know that I appreciate every single one beyond words (I know, a writer without words. Ignore the irony)…and I try to answer as many as I can. _

_So, thank you for reviewing, and thank you for reading! Anyway, onwards with the next chapter!_

5

The man crumples to the ground and I stare in shock at the blood pooling. A wall of white-clad Peacekeepers then blocks our view. Several of them have automatic weapons, held lengthwise, pushing us back to the door. It's like I'm in the arena again and all I see are enemies. Mutts. Careers. They'll kill me the second I show I'm a threat.

"We're going!" I say, shoving a Peacekeeper pressing on Katniss away from her. "We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss." I wrap my arm protectively around her, guide her back to the Justice Building, keeping my eyes on the weapons, keeping my body between her and them. The moment we're inside the Peacekeepers slam the door shut behind us.

Haymitch, Effie, Portia, and Cinna all wait under a screen filled with static, their faces tight with anxiety.

"What happened?" asks Effie, hurrying over. She's in a worse state than she was when her wig was crooked. "We lost the feed just after Katniss's beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard a gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!"

_Yes, there are, Effie, and they all belong to the Capitol,_ I think to myself. But Effie looks like she's about one wrong word away from panicking.

"Nothing happened, Effie," I say evenly. "An old truck backfired."

Two more shots. The door doesn't muffle the sound much. Who did they kill now? Rue's siblings? Thresh's grandmother? Rue's parents? The whole thing has shaken me. Why would they shoot people in the first place? What the hell is going on?

"Both of you. With me," says Haymitch. Katniss and I follow him, and leave the others behind. There's Peacekeepers everywhere, but they take little interest in us now that we're safely locked inside the Justice Building. Haymitch leads us up a magnificent curved marble staircase, down a long hall with worn carpet on the floor. We go into the first open room we encounter. It's rich and lavish, high ceilings, designs of fruit and flowers carved into the molding and cherubs look down at us from every angle. Vases of flowers decorate the room, and our evening clothes hang on racks against the wall. This room has been prepared for our use, I realize, but we don't stay here. We drop off our gifts and Haymitch yanks the microphones from our chests, stuffs them beneath a couch cushion, then waves us on.

He leads us through a maze of twisting staircases and narrow halls. The state of them deteriorates the further we go. Haymitch has to stop at times and force a door. How he knows where he's going, I have no clue, because as far as I know Haymitch has only ever been here once during his own Victory Tour. At long last we climb a ladder to a trapdoor, and find ourselves at our destination: the dome of the Justice Building. By what little light manages to filter through four grimy windows I'm able to see that it's little more than a stuffing place for old broken furniture, piles of books and ledgers, even rusty weapons, and everything is coated in a layer of dust so thick that it's clear no one's been up here in years. Haymitch kicks the trapdoor shut and turns to us.

"What happened?" he asks.

Without preamble I tell him everything that happened in the square from the whistle to the salute, turning back to get Katniss's flowers and seeing the old man murdered. "What's going on, Haymitch?" I demand of him when I've finished.

"It will be better coming from you," Haymitch says, turning to Katniss.

She looks reluctant, but finally, at long last, I get the truth.

Katniss tells me everything. About President Snow's visit, his threats, the unrest in the districts. I'm not all that surprised by that. I only have to look at District 11 to know that they are sick of oppression, that it will only take a spark to set them off. Which we have provided with our trick with the berries. She even tells me she and Gale kissed, and while my insides burn with jealousy I force myself to put it aside, because we have bigger problems to worry about. _Much _bigger problems. Our trick with the berries has set something of great consequence in motion, and President Snow is not happy about it. Not happy at all. He knows we didn't do it to stir up trouble, but it doesn't matter. If we don't settle the unrest in the districts by convincing everyone we're madly in love, then we're all in jeopardy. The whole country is in jeopardy. "I was supposed to fix things on this tour. Make everyone doubted believe I acted out of love. Calm things down. But obviously, all I've done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished," she finishes. Katniss looks sicker than she did on the verandah, and she has to sit down on a couch.

"Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money," I conclude. And the anger hits me out of nowhere, anger at Katniss and Haymitch, anger at their keeping secrets from me. Anger because I screwed up, because of these two. Because I didn't know. I've endangered the lives of Rue's family and Thresh's family by what I've done. Seeing red I strike out at a lamp nearby, and it flies across the room, shattering on the floor. Katniss and Haymitch look surprised. "This has to stop. Right now. This—this—game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I'm too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them."

"It's not like that, Peeta—" begins Katniss.

"It's exactly like that!" I yell at her. "I have people I care about too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this thing off." It angers me, it pisses me off, that Katniss, even if she doesn't really love me, thinks she's the only one who'd be hurt by this. That she can't even think of _my_ family, my friends. She can only think of herself, her family. Even after everything we've been through. I thought I deserved more than that. I thought we were supposed to look out for one another. "So, after all we went through in the arena, I don't even rate the truth from you?"

"You're always so reliably good, Peeta," says Haymitch placatingly. "So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn't want to disrupt that."

Ha! _Oh, since that's all, Haymitch, yeah, go right on ahead and don't tell me what's going on._After all, I might not be able to handle it. I don't get the truth. I'm not important in this little trio of ours. After all, I'm just going along for the ride. Nevermind that every public performance has rested on my shoulders to be convincing. And now I've messed that up, too.

"Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today. What do you think is going to happen to Rue's and Thresh's families? Do you think they'll get their share of our winnings? Do you think I gave them a bright future? Because I think they'll be lucky to survive the day!" I say, sending a statue flying in my rage.

"He's right, Haymitch," says Katniss. I look at her. She seems slightly shocked by my temper. She at least has the decency to look a bit guilty and to try and remedy the situation. "We were wrong not to tell him. Even back in the Capitol."

_Even back in the Capitol._ Even in the Games.

"Even in the arena," I say, my voice dropping in volume. Some of my rage has been quelled by Katniss. But not all of it. I still have a bone to pick with these two. "You two had some sort of system worked out, didn't you?" I ask, remembering the basket of food, the sleep syrup, the stew. How they came after a particularly emotional moment or kisses. Katniss knew what Haymitch wanted. Looks like these two have been conspiring behind my back longer than I thought. "Something I wasn't part of."

"No. Not officially," says Katniss. "I could just tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he sent, or didn't send."

"Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up," I say the most cutting thing I can think to say.

"Look, boy—" starts Haymitch, no doubt to remind me that I _asked_ him to keep her alive.

"Don't bother, Haymitch," I cut him off. "I know you had to choose one of us. And I'd have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we're very good. We all know I'm better than Katniss in front of the cameras. No one needs to coach me on what to say. But I have to know what I'm walking into."

"From now on, you'll be fully informed," promises Haymitch.

"I better be," I snap, and without looking at either of them I storm out the trapdoor.

Unfortunately I've forgotten the path Haymitch took to get us here. Too angry to entirely care where I'm going I just take as many downwards stairs as possible, stewing.

Why do those two think it's okay to keep secrets from me? It's frustrating that I can't trust either of them. Especially with something as important as this. I've probably doomed Thresh's and Rue's families to possible misery and death for my stupidity. I mean, I can understand Katniss not telling me about her kissing Gale, but . . .

Katniss kissed Gale. Katniss kissed Gale. . .or did Gale kiss Katniss? She never clarified. She said Snow knew about them kissing. How many kisses did Snow not know about? How many had they been sharing behind my back? Okay, behind my back seems a little too extreme. It's really none of my business and I shouldn't feel betrayed about it, but I do. I knew Katniss had something with Gale, but this? It strikes a blow to my pride. And I'm jealous. While Katniss and I couldn't even look at each other they were off kissing in the woods.

Suddenly I pull up short. I hear voices. Arguing voices, drifting through a closed door up ahead. It sounds like the mayor, though his voice is drastically different from when he gave his speech. It's tense and anxious. I take a few steps forward, listening closely. I shouldn't be eavesdropping, I know, but every bit of information now is useful. If it's just something personal I'll stop listening. But what he's said so far has caught my attention.

"…All I want is to protect the citizens! I can't do that if they do stuff like this! What were they _thinking?_ Who organized it? What did they think they were _doing_—?"

"I know. But maybe they—"

"Don't say it." The mayor's voice drops in volume and I have to strain my ears to hear. "Don't even think it. You know what they'll do. You know they can hear us."

"I know," says a woman's voice, who I assume is the mayor's wife. "I know. I just think that, if they can do things like that, if those kids from Twelve can defy the Capitol, then why can't—"

"Shut up!" the mayor shouts harshly. Then his voice grows softer. "I know. I know. But you can't say things like that. Do you want to end up like that old man? Like that old woman…who was it…the boy tribute's grandmother? I can't bear that to happen. It's dangerous. We just have to go along with what the Capitol wants. It's dangerous to do otherwise."

I gasp in horror and reel in shock as I hear this. So one of those gunshots we heard killed Thresh's grandmother. What did she do to provoke the Peacekeepers? Was it my fault? That's a stupid thought. Of course it was my fault. I'm overcome with guilt and remorse. I'm such an _idiot!_ I never should have suggested they receive our winnings. I want to stop listening, to go to my room, think about this, maybe tell Haymitch, but I stop dead when Katniss and myself are mentioned.

"Those kids from Twelve—"

"They're Victors. They're famous. The whole country is enamored with them. There'd be outright chaos if either of them were to die. We're not. You're not. The Capitol can easily dispose of us. So it's best for everyone if we just shut our mouths and behave."

The mayor and his wife fall silent and I decide I've heard enough. As fast and as quietly as I can I head back to our quarters, now easy to find. I undress with shaking hands and practically drown myself in the shower. The mayor's words will not leave my head. I'm responsible now for the death of Thresh's grandmother. One more death I can put on my shoulders. I feel as equally guilty and ashamed of this as I am of the boy from Five's death and the girl from Four's. And Cato's. Let's face it, that death was practically my fault because of that _x_ I drew on his hand, even if it was necessary for survival and I didn't take the shot. But the grandmother…I might as well have shot her. I condemned her to death with my gift…no, gift isn't the right word. More like curse. Who else did they kill? Who else will they kill if we don't pull this off?

I exit the shower, sopping wet. Portia will want to dress me so I don't even bother with clothes. I throw on a robe and enter my room. She's there waiting for me with a gray suit and pale pink tie. I'm dressed, makeup is applied, they put all sorts of smelly creams in my hair to make it stay put. Then Portia and my prep team leave and Haymitch comes in.

"They killed Thresh's grandmother," I blurt out to him before he can even say a word. "I overheard the mayor and his wife talking."

Haymitch sighs, scowling. Then he looks at me, spots the guilt written all over my face.

"It's none of your concern, boy," says Haymitch.

None of my concern? Is he kidding me? "I might as well have put the gun to her head!" I say angrily. I start to pace, clamp my arms over my chest to keep from throwing things again.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter," growls Haymitch, showing almost complete indifference to Thresh's grandmother's fate. "What matters is you go out there and put on a convincing performance. It's the only way to stop more deaths and keep yourselves alive."

"But—"

"No buts. It's just the way things are. Beating yourself up about it won't help anyone."

I'm silent. He's right, of course. But that doesn't stop the guilt. Maybe he's right. I just have to put it out of my head until we get home.

"Don't tell Katniss about this," I say suddenly. Haymitch smirks ironically.

"What happened to no more secrets?"

"It's not about that. You know she'll never be able to put on a show with that hanging over her head."

"I know. I wasn't planning on telling her," says Haymitch, frowning. "She doesn't need to know."

I'm silent, feeling like such a hypocrite. I go and yell at Haymitch and Katniss for keeping secrets from me and here I am, asking Haymitch to keep a secret from Katniss. Yet I know we're both right in doing so. She could never live with the guilt. I don't want that death hanging over her. She's better off not knowing.

"You shouldn't have yelled at her, you know," says Haymitch. I sigh. "She was only doing what I told her to do."

I drop my hands to my side. So it was all Haymitch's idea to keep secrets from me. I can hardly go and yell at him now though, after what I just asked him to do. And he knows this. He smirks.

"I just lost my temper," I snap. "And I think I had a right to."

"Yes, but not at her," he says.

"Is she mad about it?" I ask.

"No," says Haymitch, standing and going to the door. "She's more concerned with keeping us all alive. As you should be." And with that bit of just as obvious advice as '_stay alive,'_ he leaves the room. Irritated, I huff, take several deeps breaths. It's show time. Time to put on the madly-in-love face and leave the anger in this room.

I exit my room, and we assemble for dinner. Cinna has put Katniss in a pale pink strapless dress that matches my tie. It falls down to her shoes in flowing waves. A silvery wrap is arranged around her shoulders and her hair is pulled up out of her face and flows down her back in ringlets. She's beautiful, as always.

Effie, though, is all out of sorts. I doubt Haymitch told her what happened in the square. Cinna and Portia probably know, but Effie? There seems to be an unspoken agreement to leave Effie out of the bad-news loop. After all, she'd probably freak out if she knew what really happened. It doesn't take long to hear about whatever's bothering her, though. She runs through the evening's schedule, then tosses it aside. "And then, thank goodness, we can all get on that train and get out of here."

"If something wrong, Effie?" asks Cinna.

"I don't like the way we've been treated," sniffs Effie. "Being stuffed into trucks and barred from the platform. And then, about an hour ago, I decided to look around the Justice Building. I'm something of an expert in architectural design, you know."

I didn't know that, and neither, it seems, did anyone else. But before the pause can go on to long Portia speaks up. "Oh, yes, I've heard that."

"So, I was just having a peek around because district ruins are going to be all the rage this year, when two Peacemakers showed up and ordered me back to our quarters. One of them actually poked me with her gun!" says Effie indignantly.

The Peacekeepers here really are a bit more strict than the ones back home. Sure, Cray, our head Peacekeeper, might be a bit of a sick person, the way he'll take advantage of starving girls who are so desperate they'll sell their bodies. But I can't see him doing something that flat-out rude and threatening, especially to someone from the Capitol. And it's not like our Peacekeepers will actually shoot anyone.

And I can't help but think Effie being stopped from wandering is a direct result of Katniss, Haymitch and I disappearing earlier. It's reassuring, to know that Haymitch was right taking us up there, where no one could overhear us. I think of how easily it was to overhear the mayor. I bet they're monitoring the dome now, though. I glance at Katniss for confirmation of this thought, but she's frowning at Effie instead.

Katniss surprises everyone in the room when she gives Effie a hug. "That's awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn't go to dinner at all. At least until they've apologized."

"No, I'll manage," says Effie, brightening considerably at Katniss's validation of her complaint, even if Effie would never agree to skipping dinner. "It's part of my job to weather the ups and downs. And we can't let you two miss your dinner. But thank you for the offer, Katniss."

Effie arranges us in formation for our entrance. Prep teams first, then Effie, the stylists, Haymitch, and then Katniss and I bringing up the rear. Somewhere below musicians begin to play. The first wave of our procession begins down the steps, waving like they're the stars of the show. It's hard to hate the prep teams when they're so oblivious and stupid. Katniss and I join hands.

"Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions," I say quietly to Katniss. "And it isn't as if I haven't kept things from you in the past." Just a few things. Teaming up with the Careers. The declaration of love at the interview. The overall plan of keeping her alive at the cost of my own life…in fact, she still doesn't know about that. Another one of those things she doesn't need to know. She glances up at me.

"I think I broke a few things myself after that interview," she says.

"Just an urn," I say.

"And your hands," adds Katniss. "There's no point to it anymore, though, is there? Not being straight with each other?"

"No point," I confirm. Except about Thresh's grandmother. That _does _have a point to it. I'm such a hypocrite. But really, I needed to know the danger we were in. Katniss does not need to know about this death. By not telling her about Thresh's grandmother I'm protecting her, and hasn't that been the goal all along? We stand at the top of the stairs, giving Haymitch a fifteen-step lead as Effie directed. I count his steps, and suddenly I remember. "Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?"

I catch her off-guard. "Yes," she answers, startled. I'm not quite sure what to make of this information, although the first thing I feel is relief. Maybe it was just an experiment. After all that happened between me and Katniss in the Games, it wouldn't surprise me if Gale decided to make a move on her. He hadn't exactly made it a secret how he feels about her. At least not among the guys. Though I wonder if all the girls that the rumors say he's kissed know that. I wonder if Katniss knows about all those girls. Is Katniss just one more conquest to Gale? My insides burn with anger at the thought. _No, no anger,_ I tell myself. _Save it for later. Smile, you're on camera. _

"That's fifteen. Let's do it," I say, dragging myself out of these thoughts. Because what do they matter right now? Our lives are at stake. Gossip at this point in the game is next to pointless.

A light hits us, and we put on dazzling smiles.

We descend down the steps, and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, train rides. Every day is the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to and give speeches. But only the speech the Capitol gave us, no deviations, no personal touches now. Sometimes we get a brief tour of the Districts. Brief glimpses of waves rolling in the beach as I walk hand in hand with Katniss down a beach in District 4, Peacekeepers watching our every move to make sure we don't wander off. Towering forests in 7. Depressing, ugly factories in District 8. We dress in evening clothes. Attend dinners. Back on the train to repeat the process.

We are solemn and respectful during ceremonies, but always linked together by our hands, or her arm looped through mine. At dinners we are borderline delirious in our love for each other; kissing, dancing, purposefully getting caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Even without our personal speeches to trigger dissent in the districts—needless to say the ones we gave in 11 were cut before they were even broadcast—we can feel something in the air, the rolling boil of a pot about to roll over. Not everywhere—some just have the weary-cattle feel that District 12 often projects when we're broadcast to the country. But in other Districts—particularly 8, 4, and 3—their elation to see us is genuine, and under the elation is fury. Not fury at us. Fury at the Capitol. Our names are a rallying cry. When they cheer our names it is more a cry of vengeance for seventy-four years of lost children and oppression than a cheer of congratulations. When the Peacekeepers move in to quiet an unruly crowd, they push back instead of retreating. And it's obvious there is nothing we can do to change this. No show of love, however believable, will stem this tide. Those berries were held out, and it is the perception of the act of defiance that matters, not the real reason. If Katniss holding out those berries was an act of temporary insanity, then the people will embrace insanity, too.

Katniss starts to visibly lose weight. Cinna takes in her clothes and I worry about her. I'm not half so concerned that Portia's taking in my clothes, as well. The amount of makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes piles up but can't completely cover them, neither can they cover Katniss's. Effie gives us both sleeping pills, but I don't take them. One night of not being able to wake from my nightmares was enough for me to flush them down the toilet. I cannot sleep at night. I spend my nights wandering the train, unable to sleep, unable to stay trapped in my compartment, wishing I could escape…from this train, from the Capitol's watchful eye, from my own screwed up head.

The night Effie gives her the pills is the night I hear her screaming. Screaming like in the nightmare I had just woken up from, where I lost her. In a panic I rush into her room to find her thrashing around in the bed, struggling to break out of the stupor the sleeping pills have brought upon her, locked in a nightmare terrible enough to make her cry and scream. Without thinking twice I sit down on her bed, struggle to wake her up, shaking her, calling out her name. When at last her panicked grey eyes fly open and meet mine, she clings to me, babbling incoherently, crying, still half in her nightmare. I catch words here and there, though. Enough for me to guess the content of her dream.

"It's alright, Katniss, I'm here, I'm alive," I whisper in her ear soothingly. It takes a while to calm her down and convince her that I'm alive, the Capitol did not kill me, and not going to leave her. She doesn't question what I'm doing here in her room once she comes to her senses. Nevertheless, I tell her anyway. "I heard you screaming," I fumble to explain. "I couldn't—"

"Thank you," she interrupts. She hesitates, her eyes on my face, and I know we're both remembering them. Cold nights in the cave, huddled together for warmth in the same sleeping bag. Feeling safe with the other at our side. Keeping away the darkness and fear. Sleeping together for survival.

"How bad are they?" I whisper, concerned. Her eyes flick between mine, to my lips, down. This starts my heart racing.

"Bad," she breathes to our entwined hands. And I know that 'bad' means 'terrible.' As in as soon as I leave her and she goes back to sleep, she'll be consumed by another nightmare. My heart sinks. I wish I could do something to keep her nightmares at bay. But isn't there? I can't sleep. She can't sleep. What if we . . . ?

She doesn't object when I pull her in close, hold her tight, pull the covers up over us. In fact she looks relieved that I will stay with her. After that Katniss no longer takes the pills, but every night lets me into her bed. And in this way, we both manage to get sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, guarding against the dangers of night that can descend any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train. I find I don't really care. I'm sleeping in the same bed as the girl I've been in love with since I was five, what do I care what they say? It's for survival. It'll take more than a couple of gossips to shame me. And she needs me. We need each other.

Visiting District Five and Four are the worst districts for me. I can't look the families of the children I murdered in the eye while the mayor gives the speech, because both tributes from Five were on my kill list. As the mayor speaks I learn their names. Foxface, whose name was Marissa. And the boy, whose name was Bolt. As soon as I learn their names I wish I could forget the information. But it would be almost as impossible as forgetting the look in his eyes when I killed him. And the horrible, ever-persistent guilt that has haunted me ever since. And the girl from Four, whose name was Ariel, had one older brother. Too old to be reaped. I do not see the accusation in his eyes that I see in Bolt's families eyes. After all, killing Ariel was a mercy killing. And though I had no idea Foxface—Marissa—would die from the berries I picked, her younger siblings stare at me with hate in their eyes. After all, she was in the final four. She would have made it home if not for my lack of knowledge on poisonous berries.

The back-to-back appearances in 2 and 1 are their own brand of torture too, because I tricked all four of the Careers into a false alliance. And a special fake-alliance with Cato. Plus Cato and Clove would have both made it home if we didn't. And Katniss killed Glimmer and Marvel. She didn't even know Marvel's name until we stood in front of their families. But then, I didn't know the names of the kids I killed either. _Bolt. Ariel. Marissa._ Another thing to add to the nightmares. I don't want to know any more about them, because if I do the nightmares will only get worse.

By the time we reach the Capitol, we are desperate. This is the biggest celebration yet and we make endless appearances to the adoring crowds. Even though there is no danger here of uprisings here among the privileged, where there is no sacrifice of their children. No one in the Capitol but one needs to be convinced of our love, but we hold onto the slim hope that we can still reach some of those we failed to convince in the districts. But it's of no use. Whatever we do seems too little, too late.

Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, Katniss is the one that suggests the public marriage proposal as a last-ditch effort. I don't know why I'm so shocked. Why this makes me feel empty and angry and sad. I should have seen this coming. Of _course_ we're stuck together for the rest of our lives, because we're mentors now, and every year they'll want to go back and visit the romance. But it's contrived and wrong and it makes me feel even more trapped and I hate it. I wanted anything we might have had to be real. I wanted it to be more than just to stay alive.

But it's not and it never will be under the Capitol's watchful, threatening eye. I will never have a normal life and there is no happily ever for us, for Katniss and I, except in the distorted eye of the public. Instead of the promise of a happy new life together it's the promise of a lifetime of misery and fear together. It's with a heavy heart and a bitter taste in my mouth that I agree to do it. Unable to look at either Haymitch or my designated future wife (even though my wife never would have been anyone but her anyway), I barricade myself in my room. Try to focus on what to say in the proposal instead of the pain in my chest.

That night I have to crawl out of my cave and put on the face of how I should feel instead of how I do feel. We go to the stage before the Training Center, and bubble our way through a list of questions. Somehow Caesar Flickerman manages to guide us flawlessly through the interview and each question is like a clock ticking down the moments I have left before we're forced into a life together that neither of us wanted. At least not like this. At long last he asks us about our future together, and I take a deep breath, get down on one knee, Katniss's hand held tightly in both of mine. I pour out my heart and beg her to marry me. And of course she accepts. As she throws herself in my arms and we kiss happily, I feel no sense of real happiness. And I know Katniss doesn't, either.

Caesar is beside himself, the Capitol audience is hysterical, shots of crowds around Panem show a county besotted with happiness. I wonder where on earth they got those shots because everything I've seen on the tour has been far from happy.

President Snow himself makes a surprise visit to congratulate us. He clasps my hand, gives me an approving slap on the shoulder. I'm filled with loathing and fear as he embraces Katniss and plants a fat-lipped kiss on her cheek. _Did we do it? _I wonder, _did we do enough? Did we do enough to spare our lives and our families, our friends? _

And there's no way to ask him whether or not we've succeeded.


	25. Chapter 25

6

President Snow silences the audience. "What do you think about us throwing them a wedding right here in the Capitol?" he asks them. The audience cheers, Katniss acts overjoyed, and I grin like a fool, as I f there's nothing we'd like more than to get married in the Capitol. I suppose it doesn't matter much, since none of this is about what we really want anyway. This whole thing is simultaneously all about us and has nothing to do with us. But still, getting married in the Capitol means there won't be a toasting. They have to take that away as well.

Caesar Flickerman then asks the president if he has a date in mind.

"Oh, before we set a date, we better clear it with Katniss's mother," answers Snow. The audience gives a big laugh because when we'd come home from the Games, a reporter had asked Mrs. Everdeen what she thought of me and Katniss. She had replied that while she thought I was the very model of what a young man should be, Katniss was too young to be dating anyway. It at least gave us an excuse to tone down the PDA, which Katniss seemed grateful for as well as myself.

Snow puts his arm around Katniss. "Maybe is the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you're thirty."

"You'll probably have to pass a new law," says Katniss with a giggle. Her eyes are almost wild, and her smile is somewhat insane. It catches me off guard because it doesn't seem forced. It's a remarkable change. I have never seen her like this before, balancing just on unhinged, and it unnerves me.

The party in our honor has no equal. It's held in the banquet room of President Snow's mansion. The tall ceiling has been transformed into the night sky, looking just as the night sky over District 12. There's no way it's the view from the Capitol, because you can't see a single star with all the city lights. Halfway between the floor and the ceiling musicians float on fluffy white clouds, any hint of what keeps them aloft hidden. Traditional dining tables have been replaced by stuffed sofas and plush chairs, placed strategically around fireplaces, fragrant flower gardens dominated mainly by roses, or ponds in which exotic fish swim. A dance floor dominates the center of the room where flamboyantly dressed guests mingle with each other.

But the food, the food is the real star of the evening. Tables groaning under the weight of Capitol delicacies line the walls. Food I can only dream about. Food that starving children in the Seam could never imagine. Food that _I_ could never imagine. Whole roasted cows, pigs, goats, still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine and chocolate, streams of spirits that flicker with flames. And the bread! Every kind of bread I have ever baked or heard of and so many others.

"I want to taste everything in the room," Katniss tells me. Her eyes are dazzled by all the food. And I even hear her stomach rumbling. After weeks of her being too worried to eat, her appetite has returned. Why?

Her expression is unreadable. There's no hint of what has spurred this transformation in her. There_ is_ something, though. Something has happened. Something relevant to what we have been stressing and worrying over for the past weeks. Somehow she has learned whether or not we have succeeded or failed. Her eyes betray her emotions. She desperately wants to tell me, but she can't. Not here. Not now. While we're on camera. I wipe my face smooth of any puzzlement I feel. "Then you'd better pace yourself," I say.

"Okay, no more than one bite of each dish," she says. But her resolve is broken almost immediately when we encounter a creamy pumpkin brew at a table that contains twenty or so soups. "I could just eat this all night!" she exclaims. I smile at her enthusiasm. She takes more than one spoonful again at a clear green broth that I try too and can only be described as tasting like springtime.

Faces appear, names are exchanged, pictures taken and hands shaken. Katniss's mockingjay pin, it seems, has spawned a new fashion sensation in the Capitol. It's everywhere, from belt buckles and jewelry to tattoos in intimate places. Everyone wants to wear the winners token.

Katniss and I never seek anyone out but are constantly bombarded with company. We are the stars of the show, after all. We're the part of the evening no one wants to miss. Everyone wants a picture with the star-crossed lovers from District 12. It's clear though, to me, anyway, that Katniss has absolutely no interest in the Capitol people and every interest in the food.

Katniss only takes one bite each and has me eat the remainder because she can't stand the thought of wasting food (even though that's really all this party is—a big waste. This banquet could have feed the entirety of District 11 several times over). After about ten tables I don't know how much food I can eat because I'm absolutely stuffed and I had almost zero interest in eating in the first place.

Then Katniss's prep team descends on us, nearly incoherent from all the alcohol they've consumed and their excitement at being include in such a grand affair.

"Why aren't you eating?" Octavia asks.

"I have been, but I can't hold another bite," says Katniss. Then they all start to laugh as though it's the silliest thing they've ever heard.

"No one lets that stop them!" says Flavius. They lead us to a table that holds tiny stemmed glasses filled with a clear liquid that almost looks like water. "Drink this!"

Curious, I go to follow his instructions and they lose it.

"Not here!" shrieks Octavia.

"You have to do it in there," says Venia, pointing to the doors to the toilets. "Or you'll get it all over the floor!"

With a dawning sense of horrible comprehension I stare at the innocent-looking glass. "You mean this will make me puke?" I ask to clarify.

They laugh hysterically and suddenly I feel sick to my stomach without any need at all for the liquid. "Of course, so you can keep eating," says Octavia. "I've been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or how else would you have any fun at a feast?"

My mouth falls open in horror.

I set the pretty little glass back on the table with such precision you'd think it would detonate. "Come on, Katniss, let's dance," I say, pulling her away from the prep team that I was starting to think were not such bad people and the glasses that exist purely to waste. Music floats down from the clouds at a slow, dreamlike tempo and I pull Katniss close to me in one of the dances Effie showed us. There's only a few dances we know from home, the kind that go along with a fiddle an flute and a great deal of floor space and none of which the Capitol would find very appropriate, so Effie taught us some from the Capitol. This one requires so little space we could do it on a pie plate. We're quiet for a while, not quite knowing what to say. Then I speak, unable to hold back my thoughts any longer, my voice coming out slightly strained.

"You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they're not so bad, and then you—" I cut myself off, unable to continue. All I can think of are those people, pawing through the trash bins of the bakery, desperately searching for sustenance that's not there. Starved. Skinny. Dying. Dead, right there in my backyard…starving in the rain with only burnt bread to save her.

And here, here in the Capitol, they vomit for the pleasure of filling their bellies over and over again. Something you'd be lucky to get back home. There were even days when market families would go hungry…when I'd go to bed with my stomach rumbling because there simply _was no food._

"Peeta," says Katniss, in a forced-nonchalant voice. "They bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment. Really, this is nothing by comparison."

"I know. I know that. It's just sometimes I can't stand it anymore. To the point where…I'm not sure what I'll do." But there is, isn't there? There is something I can do. Something we can do. I say in a hushed voice, "Maybe we were wrong, Katniss."

"About what?" she asks.

"About trying to subdue things in the districts," I say.

Her eyes widen in alarm, her head swivels swiftly from side to side, but there's no one around us to hear my traitorous words. The camera crews got sidetracked at a table of shellfish, and the couples dancing around us are too drunk and self-centered to notice.

"Sorry," I rectify.

"Save it for home," she whispers, looking shaken.

Just then Portia appears with a large man who looks familiar. She introduces him as Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker.

"Mind if I steal your lovely fiancé for a dance, Peeta?" asks Plutarch.

I smile, keeping whatever insane thoughts of rebellion floating in my head to the deepest part of my brain and recovering my camera face quickly enough. I pass Katniss over good-naturedly and warn him not to get too attached in a friendly voice.

"Come on, Peeta, you should see the cakes," says Portia in an excited, seemingly unconcerned voice. She leads me away from the dance floor and Katniss, who looks quite uncomfortable dancing with Plutarch even at an arms-length. She drags me over to look at the cakes, where I'm immediately distracted by all of the gorgeous sweet confections.

When Katniss finally extracts herself from the Head Gamemaker and finds me again I'm deep into asking questions about all of the cakes I've never even seen before. They're all elaborately decorated, some with intricately detailed mockingjays that almost look real, other with hues of flames that look like they might catch on fire any minute. The bakers have found their way out of the kitchen specifically to talk frosting with me. They're tripping over each other to answer my questions. It's sort of amusing but they need something to do before they get too crazy on me so I ask them if they can give me an assortment I can examine back home in quiet.

Katniss entwines her arm in mine and she seems somewhat distracted, no matter how much she pretends to be interested in the cakes I know there's more on her mind and I'm dying to ask her. It's surely got something to do with Plutarch Heavensbee.

"Effie said we have to be on the train at one," I say, glancing around for a glimpse of either our escort or a clock. "I wonder what time it is?"

"Almost midnight," she replies. She plucks a chocolate flower from a cake with her fingers and nibbles on it with a complete disregard for manners that I find incredibly endearing.

"Time to say thank you and farewell!" trills Effie at Katniss's elbow, springing from nowhere. Effie Trinket and her compulsive punctuality. It's great. I can't wait to get out of here. We collect Cinna and Portia and Effie escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us towards the door.

"Shouldn't we thank President Snow?" I ask, suddenly realizing that was one face in the parade I did not see—one event I'm pretty thankful for. "It's his house."

"Oh, he's not one big for parties. Too busy," Effie explains. "I've already arranged for the necessary notes and gifts to be sent to him tomorrow. There you are!" She gives a little wave to two Capitol attendants who have a—not surprisingly—very inebriated Haymitch propped up between them.

We travel through the streets of the Capitol in a car with darkened windows. Another cars follows with the prep teams. The throngs of people celebrating in the street make our trip slow-going, but Effie has this all down to a science and at precisely midnight we are back on the train and pulling out of the station.

Haymitch is deposited in his room. Cinna orders tea and we take seats around the table. All I can think about is my bed and how comfortable I'll be able to sleep when I sneak into Katniss's room . . .

"There's the Harvest Festival in District Twelve to think about," says Effie, rattling her schedule papers and reminding us all we're still on tour. "So I suggest we drink our tea and head straight to bed." No arguments there.

I fall asleep only for half an hour before I'm jolted awake by a nightmare which—as per usual—involves Katniss dying in some horrible way. Without any real conscious thought I go to her bedroom, slide under her covers, and gather her in my arms, my heart rate slowly returning to normal and the fear passing as I watch her sleep. Peacefully, for once. She doesn't look troubled at all like she normally does. She snuggles deeper into me in her sleep, wrapping her arms around me and placing her head on my arm.

With a pang I realize this is probably going to be the last night of this arrangement, and only now do I realize how terribly I'll miss it. Not just the reduction in nightmares, but _her._ Sleeping with her, waking with her next to me…It feels as though something is right with the world because in her sleep, she gives away more real affection than she ever does awake. And it allows me, if foolishly and only for the night, to hope that some part of her—even it's only in her subconscious—really loves me the way I love her.

It's late afternoon when Katniss finally stirs, sleeping peacefully through the night. I fell asleep somewhere around two thirty and it's the most restful sleep I've had in a while. Her eyes flutter open as she stirs, stretching slightly automatically before she fully realizes she's awake. For once, her slight scowl does not immediately return as soon as she wakes up, but rather she keeps that contended, peaceful look that she normally only wears in the deepest of her sleep.

As soon as she wakes fully she tries not to wake me, only to find I'm already awake. It's awful cute, the way she tries not to disturb me in the mornings. Another thing I'm going to miss.

"No nightmares," I say.

"What?" she asks, she voice slightly groggy.

"You didn't have any nightmares last night," I clarify.

The confusion clears and she rests her head back down on my chest. "I had a dream, though," she says. "I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice."

"Where did she take you?" I ask softly, brushing Katniss's hair from her forehead and watching her closely, feeling strangely happy. Odd, because we're soon going to grow to resent each other in our forced-marriage.

"I don't know. We never arrived," she says. "But I felt happy."

"Well, you slept like you were happy," I say, allowing a real smile to creep on my face.

"Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?" asks Katniss suddenly.

"I don't know," I answer. "I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror."

"You should wake me up," says Katniss, sounding slightly guilty. Probably because she _does_ wake me up quite a bit with her crying out and thrashing. Not that I mind—I'll take that over sleeping alone.

"It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you," I tell her. "I'm okay once I realize you're here."

Katniss suddenly sits up, turning away from me, frowning slightly. Which causes me to frown.

"Be worse when we're home and I'm sleeping alone again," I say honestly.

Home. We're almost there.

The agenda for District 12 includes a dinner at Mayor Undersee's house and a victory rally in the square tomorrow during the Harvest Festival. We always celebrate the Harvest Festival on the final day of the Victory Tour, and it usually just means fresh bread with a few friends and maybe even sweets if it's a good year. This year, it'll be a public affair, and the whole district will have full bellies since the Capitol's throwing it.

Most of our prepping will take place at the Mayor's house, since we're back to being covered in furs for outdoor appearances now that we're back in the colder district. We only stay at the train station briefly, to smile and wave as we pile into the car. We don't even get to see our families until the dinner tonight.

At the mayor's house Katniss gives Madge a quick hug before we're both ushered up to the third floor to get ready. Portia dresses me in a soft black suit with a silver tie and vest and black shirt to match Katniss's dress. At dinner when I meet up with Katniss and she slips her arm in mine, she looks troubled. Troubled, scared. And some of that insane fire I saw on the stage.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

She swallows, looking nervous, but she doesn't notice that her lips twitch upward in a small smile and her eyes smolder when she answers with a defiant;

"Nothing."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I KNOW, I know, I'm a horrible, HORRIBLE person for making you guys wait so long for an update. I really do mean it when I say I'm sorry. It's just this chapter was so . . . friggin…BORING to get through…what with the dancing and the fluffiness and the rebel stuff going on that Katniss gets clues of in this chapter (Particularly the uprising in District 8 and Plutarch Heavensbee's mockingjay watch) but Peeta is still completely clueless on so basically it's forced to be pure fluff. GAH. Boring. _

_Anyway, though I really don't deserve any reviews at all for almost abandoning this story, I'm enough of an asshole to still ask for them…please? : ) maybe? I get enough reviews on this one it will certainly speed the updates!_


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: **__Sorry for the long wait! My excuse is sort of pathetic, but I'll give it to you anyway…I get in these periods, for like a length of time, where I'm like "writing!" could be like a month, a couple months, or a week or a day or even just a couple of hours. And then I abruptly switch and I'm like "movies!" or "art!" "drawing!" "reading!" "video games!" I'm sort of all over the place in my interests (which is why I cannot decide what I should major in/career path I should go into), and now that I have shared my stuff with other people, other people suffer for my…creative mood swings? (I guess you could call them). Plus, it's summer, and nobody seems to even be interested in fanfiction in summer anyway (um…hello? Sun, lake. No. Fanfiction is definitely not on the top of my priority/interest list right now.) But thanks to some recent comments when I haven't even updated recently, and people begging me to update…I guess now that I have maybe a night of freetime. (My niece and grandma are staying for the week and then my boyfriend is joining us (as in me, my parents, my grandmother and my niece) this weekend. Plus I have classes, too, that I barely seem to have a second for as is…) (AND, I was in my "drawing!" mood for about two or three weeks or so) ANYWAY…not important…I will see if I can get chapter…26? Yes, 26 in BWTB and 7 in Catching Fire…done for you guys. Hopefully tonight! If not tonight, you'll never see this A/N, as I will edit it by then. _

_But it turns out I don't have to edit it! ^.^_

_So, without further ado…on to the chapter!_

* * *

><p><span>7<span>

"Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?"

Alright, I'll admit it. I _might _have fantasized about Katniss asking me that exact question several times in my youth. Alright, _more_ than several times. A lot. One of my most frequent fantasies, actually…aside from, well, the obvious other things I envisioned Katniss and I doing.

I come to a stop, and take Katniss's arm, bringing her to a stop as well.

I know Katniss is completely serious about this—first off, she wouldn't have asked me if she wasn't, and second, I can tell from her desperate demeanor that she means it. But why? Why would she want to run away now? After all we've been through on the Victory Tour and all that we've promised Snow and all we've done to subdue the Districts…_especially_ when all our lives, all our _family's_ lives, are on the line. Why would she risk running away when it could bring Snow's wrath down upon District 12?

"Depends on why you're asking," I respond carefully.

"President Snow wasn't convinced by me. There's an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out."

When I fantasized about running away from District 12 with Katniss, it was because of something _happy._ Not because we had to "get out." It was because we didn't need anyone but each other and because we didn't want any future children we might have to be in the Games. With her knowledge of the woods, whatever useful skill I might already have (which I don't) or might acquire (which was a longshot), we could live on our own for the rest of our lives, have as many kids as we wanted, and never live in fear of the oppression of the Capitol.

In reality, now, when we run away—_if_ we run away, because I don't think for a second that Katniss really will—our lives will constantly be filled with fear. Fear of the Capitol. Fear of discovery. Fear of loved ones left behind. No, there's no way we could run away. Not now. It would cost too much when we have already paid so much. In promises. In our future. In blood.

But, in all honesty, wherever Katniss goes, I will follow, so if she runs away, then there's no way in hell I'm staying. My choice was already made for me long ago. My decision is whatever her decision is. I already know, my path lies with hers. I'll always throw my lot in with Katniss, even if it means my certain death—which I have already demonstrated on several occasions.

And we failed to convince Snow and calm the districts. Somehow, bubbling under the surface of my thoughts, I realized that that was always going to happen. There never was anything we could do to prevent uprisings, not with any silly little love story. How could any love possibly suppress the desire for freedom?

The uprising in District Eight…I can't say I'm all that surprised. It was bound to happen. That was a task we were always destined to fail.

"By 'we' do you mean just you and me? No." I know she can't and _won't,_ most likely, leave her family behind…it won't just be her and me. "Who else would be going?"

"My family. Yours, if they want to come. Haymitch, maybe," answers Katniss.

Her family was obvious. Haymitch…we can't exactly leave him behind. But my family? My father would go with me. My brothers? Most likely. My mother…my mother…

With a gut-wrenching pain I realize she would think I was insane. She wouldn't go. She would stay. Even if the rest of us went. And she would die.

I can't. I can't do this. I can't leave her behind to die. I can't, I can't…I have too much blood on my hands already…I _can't…_

I have to.

Or I have to drag her with us. Yes, that will be it. She's coming whether she likes it or not. I'll try to convince her, first. Maybe tell her that Mrs. Everdeen would also be coming as she wouldn't want dad to be with _her_ alone, now would she? But no, then she would only convince dad to stay…which she could…no matter how much he loves me, mom wields a powerful influence over dad, and if she convinced him to stay, he would, even if I was determined to go (which I am). No matter. I'll find someway to convince her. It's not in vain that I've been gifted with a silver tongue. And if I _can't_ convince her…

If I have to knock her out and carry her I will. Because I can't leave her behind to die, she's my _mother_, regardless of her attitude or her misguided ideas, she's still my mother. And I _do_ love her.

So, our list of runaways includes myself, Katniss, Prim, Mrs. Everdeen, my parents, my brothers, Haymitch…wait a minute, someone's missing from that list…

"What about Gale?" I ask Katniss.

"I don't know," she says. Her voice is slightly strained. Ah. She's already talked to Gale about this. I see. An illogical bitterness wells up inside me at that, that _I_ wasn't the first one she wanted to consult on this. _Shut up, you idiot brain. Of _course_ she would inform Gale first. Haven't you realized yet that she cares about him more than she cares about you? _ I push these thoughts aside. Now is not the time. Not the time at _all._ There's more important things to worry about than petty jealousy. "He might have other plans."

Aha. So, Gale refused to run away with her. _Other plans._ I can hazard a guess at what _those_ are. With an uprising in District Eight, there's no way his plans could include anything other than to start an uprising here in our own District 12. I shake my head and smile ruefully. _Of course_ Gale has other plans. I'm surprised _Katniss_ hasn't arrived at those same plans!

"I bet he does," I say. I look at Katniss, her serious eyes, hooded by the warm jacket and fur lining that Cinna has made for her. And I realize that I would follow her to whatever happening. As horrible as it is, I realize I would even abandon my family to their deaths if I had to. I would go with Katniss no matter what. I am bound to her. I have to, as always, pick between the lesser of two evils. And between abandoning my family or abandoning Katniss, the latter is definitely the more evil. "Sure, Katniss, I'll go."

Her eyes spark with hope. "You will?" Did she seriously even doubt for a second that I would go with her?

"Yeah," I say. "But I don't think for a minute you will."

This has goaded her. The hope dies and anger replaces it. Now _there's_ the Katniss I know. She jerks her arm away from my grasp. "Then you don't know me. Be ready. It could happen anytime." She takes off walking and I follow a pace or two behind.

On the contrary, I know her very well. I know her well enough to realize she _won't_ go. All she needs is one little push. She only needs to see one little injustice and her mind will be changed instantly. She needs only to be reminded of the evil of the Capitol and she will rebel faster than you can say "mockingjay."

I also know she won't listen to a word I say unless it's agreeing to this not-well-thought-out plan of running away.

She's gotten so far ahead now that there's no way I could catch up on my bum leg. "Katniss," I say. She doesn't slow. "Katniss, hold up." She slows to a stop to let me catch up, kicking a dirty, frozen chunk of snow off the path that's covered in coal dust. As soon as I stand beside her again my heart melts. She looks almost _defeated_. Sad. Angry, too. In the face of our failure to convince the districts not to rebel she's at a loss for what to do and running away is the only solution she can think of.

Really, she does have a point. What other choice could we have? Realistically, the idea of an uprising in District 12 is _almost_ laughable. The people are passive, weary. They've been slowly ground into the coal dust for seventy-four years under the oppression of the Capitol and the Hunger Games and the danger of the coal mines. The weary-cattle feel we project at reapings and Victory Tours is not a false one. It would take a great deal to stir the people of District 12 into enough anger to rebel. It's something I'm not even sure I could do, with my talent for words.

No. The only person that could stir District 12 into an uprising is Katniss. And she wants to run away.

District 12 has _the worst_ luck.

I sigh. "I really will go, if you want me to," I tell Katniss. "I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won't be making things worse for everyone." Which we would be.

At that very moment I hear a whistling noise, the sound of an impact, and the gasp of a crowd. The sound fills me with dread and our conversation flies right out of my mind. I've heard that sound before. Once, long ago.

One of my first memories is not a very pleasant one. At three years old, I had never questioned the way the world worked. There was me, my father, my mother and my brothers, and we baked bread. And that was my world. Sure, I remember the summers where we lined up in the town square, everyone grave, some crying. The oddly dressed Capitol people and the flashing cameras. I felt the fear. But I didn't understand it. I didn't really get that those two children to ascend the stage would never come home. Would be dead within a matter of weeks.

At three years old, how can you possibly understand things like that?

District 12 wasn't necessarily one of the best places either. I remember the streets lined with Peacekeepers, strict and cruel. I got yelled at once for walking on the grass before my father scooped me up and made excuses to the Peacekeeper. I could feel him shaking and he seemed very relieved when the Peacekeeper moved on.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Not at all.

The Head Peacekeeper before Cray was not so kind. I remember it. It's one of the worst things I remember and was the first time I ever questioned the way the world worked.

In the square they used to hold public whippings. Clearly visible and within hearing distance of the bakery. I was playing outside with Delly, I think. The details are a little fuzzy. But that sound, I could never forget that sound. The horror of that sound will never leave me.

I still, to this day, can hear the crack of the whip as clearly as though I still stand there.

So when I hear it now, I think it must be my imagination.

Hoping against hope that I've gone even crazier than I already have rather than face the alternative, I tug on Katniss's sleeve, dragging her along with me. "Come on," I say to her, dread filling me.

Something's clearly happening. When we reach the square it's filled with people and the crowd's too thick to see. I Step up onto a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offer Katniss a hand while I scan the square. And there it is. The thing I've been looking for and dreading to see.

In the middle of the square is a wooden post. A man's wrists are bound to it and above him hangs a wild turkey that he shot earlier. On the ground his jacket lies cast aside, and he slumps unconscious on his knees, held up by the ropes the bind his wrists. His back is a raw, bloody slab of meat. There's no question as to who this man is and why he's being whipped.

Gale.

My eyes go wide with shock. Katniss is halfway up the crate and I know I can't let her see this. Who knows what she might do? Something noble and self-sacrificing and at the same time incredibly stupid, no doubt. Like jump in front of the whip to save Gale the same way she volunteered for Prim. That can't happen. No, I have to be the one to save Gale. Somehow.

I block her way, pushing her back down the crate. "Get down. Get out of here!" I whisper frantically, my voice harsh with insistence. One thing I know for sure, if Katniss shows her face, it will only make it worse. For both her and Gale. This can only be meant for one person to see, and that's Katniss.

"What?" she says, trying to force her way back up.

"Go home, Katniss! I'll be there in a minute, I swear!"

She seems to realize that whatever it is, it's terrible, and I curse myself for being so panicky. There's no way she'd go home now. Katniss rips her hand out of mine and forces herself through the crowd. Despair fills me as she gets out of range. There's no stopping her now and even if I did it would only cause a bigger scene. There's only one person who could help now.

I scramble down the crate and am almost out of town when I spot him, leaving, of all places, the mayor's house. I hurry to him, my words coming out in a rush.

"Haymitch! You've got to come, quick. Gale's being whipped for poaching, and Katniss, she—"

But there's no need for me to explain. He already knows.

"—went to try and save him. Stupid girl."

Haymitch runs off at a speed that surprises me and dives right into the crowd. I can do nothing but jump in after him.

Though I worry it might be too late when I hear the crack of the whip and the distressed cry of someone that sounds exactly like Katniss.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:**_ Once again, I'm so sorry for the lengthy amount of time between updates. I have been so busy with real life that any thoughts of finishing my fanfiction have sort of flown out the window. On the upside, I'm passing all of my classes! Yay! Only a few more classes until finals and Christmas break, and then I might have more time and inspiration to work on this and my other stories. BWTB is kinda on my backburner of thought, though, because for quite some time I've been thinking about completely revamping __Our Story_, _as in completely changing what I have and splitting the rest of it into three parts, introducing some new villains and adding more character depth to other besides Rose and Scorpius, (and wow nevermind too many details) and that might be a massive undertaking. (oh, and if you haven't read__ Our Story__, please please please check it out! I guarantee you'll enjoy it!) _

_Anyway, onwards! To the chapter!_

8

"No!"

Unfortunately for the state of my mental health and any future sleep I might (or most likely not) be getting, my view is unimpeded. I see everything. Katniss, flinging herself in front of Gale. The flash of the Peacekeeper's whip, drenched in Gale's blood, coming down, too late to stop, too late to change course. Katniss, her arms occupied protecting as much of Gale's broken body as possible. And Katniss, taking the full force of the lash on the left side of her cheek.

I wince. My own cheek burns in a sympathy pain. That image is burned into my memory forever. Added to the collection of 'worst-ever-memories,' right up there with all the people I've killed and anytime Katniss has come to harm. But it's not the worst thing she's ever been dealt and I know it.

Katniss falls to her knees. One hand cups her cheek and the other keeps her balance. Already, her face is swelling up. Haymitch and I push even more fiercely through the crowd.

"Stop it! You'll kill him!" Katniss shrieks.

The Peacekeeper, who wears the Head Peacekeeper uniform and is definitely not Cray, the Head Peacekeeper that has been in charge of the district most of my life, raises a powerful arm again. It seems he doesn't care _who_ he whips, or even if they have committed a crime (though Katniss has committed many, and interrupting a whipping is in itself a crime). The whip swings back. Katniss's hand flies to her shoulder, closing on an invisible arrow that, had it been there, would be in the Peacekeeper's eye before he even knew what happened.

But it's not there. And Katniss is going to get hit again with the whip. The whole crowd tenses and every inch of me screams out silently in anger, helplessness, protest, hate, rebellion. This can't happen. This can't _be_ happening. Not to her. Once again, feelings of hatred toward the Capitol fester inside me. I stiffen as I mentally prepare for the next lash.

"Hold it!"

Thank god for Haymitch.

He trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. I'm close enough now to see the red hair and know that it's Darius, another Peacekeeper that I have heard through rumors is a frequenter of the Hob and trades often with Katniss and Gale. What happened? Is he dead? Did he try to come to Gale's aid? I can't tell from my angle whether he's breathing or not.

Haymitch ignores him and pulls Katniss to her feet roughly, placing his body between the whip and her seemingly without realizing it. But I know better. He did it to instinctively protect her, just as I would have done had it been me. "Oh, excellent," he says, examining Katniss's cheek. I recognize the change in tone. The act has begun. "She's got a photo shoot next week modeling wedding dresses. What am I supposed to tell her stylist?" The sentence hits me like a kick to the groin. _Wedding dresses._ Right. I'm getting married.

The Peacekeeper pauses, recognition crossing his face. As Katniss is bundled up against the cold, her face free of makeup, her braid tucked carelessly under her coat, it's not easy to identify her as the victor of the latest Hunger Games. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he's difficult to forget. The Peacekeeper rests the whip on his hip. "She interrupted the punishment of a confessed criminal," he says.

This man is a dangerous threat. From his unknown person, to his commanding voice, the odd accent and the whip in his hand, there's no doubt about it. It fills me with a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. Why is he here? What happened to Cray? To Darius? What sinister change has the Capitol brought about in my home?

"I don't care if she blew up the blasted Justice Building!" continues Haymitch. "Look at her cheek! Think that will be camera ready in a week?" he snarls.

I push through a middle-aged couple from the Seam and I'm in the circle that seems to be no-man's-land. I slide on something slick and look down. The cobblestones are slippery with Gale's blood. It turns my stomach. I hurry to Katniss's side.

"That's not my problem," the Peacekeeper says, though there's an edge of doubt in his voice now.

"No? Well, it's about to be, my friend. The first call I make when I get home is to the Capitol," says Haymitch. It strikes me in the back of my mind that this is an empty threat, as Haymitch doesn't even have a working telephone. No matter. He's more than welcome to use mine. "Find out who authorized you to mess up my victor's pretty little face!"

"He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?"

"He's her cousin," I say. I reach Katniss and take her free arm, much more gently than Haymitch. "And she's my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us."

Yup. I assessed myself correctly. I'll throw my lot in with Katniss no matter what. Even if it means protecting Gale, who, by any way you look at it, is my rival. And technically, we could all be shot for this little act of rebellion right here, if we weren't all victors. And it's really disheartening. Maybe we really are it. The only three who could possibly rebel. Make any kind of a stand. It's only temporary and, really, any stand we make at all carries dire consequences if it reaches back to President Snow's ears. Which you can bet it will. _Please, don't let anyone die from this._

But at the moment, Katniss is clearly not thinking of that. All she cares about is keeping Gale alive. And all I care about is keeping her alive in turn.

The new Head Peacekeeper glances over her shoulder at his backup squad. They're all familiar faces, old Peacekeepers that have been around District 12 for years, though I can thankfully say I have not had a whole lot of direct contact with them. Still, I can tell by their expressions they aren't enjoying the show.

One of them, a woman named Purnia, steps forward stiffly. I admire her bravery, considering the fact that Darius still lies unmoving on the ground sporting a large purple bruise on his temple. "I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad."

"Is that the standard protocol here?" asks the Head Peacekeeper, his eyes bulging slightly.

"Yes, sir," answers Purnia. Several other nod their head in agreement.

"Very well. Get your cousin out of here, then, girl." I breathe a sigh of relief that they're not going to shoot Gale and that he's not going to keeping trying to punish him. "And if he comes to," he adds threateningly, "remind him that next time he poaches on the Capitol's land, I'll assemble that firing squad personally." He wipes his hand along the length of the whip, splattering us with blood. Then he coils in into quick, neat loops and walks off. The rest of the Peacekeepers fall into an awkward formation behind him and a few stay behind and hoist Darius's unconscious body up before following.

Before they're even gone Katniss turns to Gale, all thought of her own injuries forgotten in the face of worse ones on loved ones. Someone passes me a knife and I cut the ropes. Gale collapses to the ground and I wince. It's lucky he's unconscious.

"Better get him to your mother," says Haymitch to Katniss as the crowd begins to break up, fleeing like it's the scene of a crime. Fear gets the better of compassion. So much for any sort of rebellion. Maybe running away _is_ a good idea. For them, anyway. For me, it's not an option.

The old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board as a makeshift stretcher that serve as her countertop, telling us only to not tell where we got it.

By the time we've got Gale laid facedown on the board there's only a handful of people left in the square to help. Haymitch, a couple of miners who work on the same crew as Gale, and myself lift him up and start the trek up to the Victor's Village. A girl from the Seam, who Katniss seems to recognize but I don't, comes up to her and takes her arm. They have a quick, hurried conversation and the girl takes off. Katniss grabs Gale's jacket and hurries after us.

"Get some snow on that," Haymitch orders her over his shoulder. She does as he says and follows us.

As we walk Gale's crewmates piece together the story. Gale must have gone to the back of the Head Peacekeeper's house with a wild turkey as he's done hundreds of times, expecting to trade with Cray. But instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper: Romulus Thread. He immediately placed Gale under arrest and, since he was standing there holding a dead turkey, there was little he could say in his own defense. Word spread quickly and Gale was brought to the square, forced to plead guilty, and sentenced to whipping to be carried out immediately. He'd been lashed around forty times when we showed up. He passed out around thirty.

"Lucky he only had the turkey on him," says Bristel. "If he'd had his usual haul, would've been much worse."

"He told Thread he found it wandering around the Seam. Said it got over the fence and he stabbed it with a stick. Still a crime. But if they'd known he'd been in the woods with weapons, they'd have killed him for sure," says Thom.

"What about Darius?" I ask, the fate of the redheaded peacekeeper still burning in my mind.

"After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn't do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread's arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him."

A chill sweeps over me at this. The Capitol will be sure to punish Darius. And us too.

"Doesn't sound like much good for any of us," says Haymitch, echoing my thoughts.

The snow begins to fall as we haul Gale up the front steps to Katniss's house. The door opens and Mrs. Everdeen, who was most likely expecting Katniss, looks slightly surprised as her eyes sweep over the scene.

"New Head," says Haymitch.

She gives a curt nod as if no other explanation is needed. We carry Gale into the kitchen as Mrs. Everdeen has directed us. She covers the table in a white cloth and directs us to hoist Gale onto it, but gently. Then we stand back, I go to stand beside Katniss, but she barely seems to notice me, watching her mother with anxious eyes. She pours steaming water from a kettle into a basin, ordering Prim to pull a bunch of remedies from the medicine cabinet. Prim comes away with arms full of dried herbs and tinctures and store-bought bottles. Mrs. Everdeen the adds them skillfully to the basin, soaking a cloth in the hot liquid as she tells Prim to prepare a second brew. Finally, she turns her attention to her other daughter, barely glancing her way but she seems to know what the problem is.

"Did it cut your eye?" she asks.

"No, it's just swelled shut." Katniss answers.

"Get more snow on it," she instructs. Katniss is too fixated on her mother watching Gale to get it herself, so it seems like the perfect job for me. Prim hands me a cloth as if she knew that that was exactly what I was going to do. I go outside to scoop a couple of handfuls of snow into the cloth and wrap it up as I take it back in the house. Katniss is standing right where she was, to wrapped up in Gale to even notice I've left. I place her in a chair and hold the snow to her cheek. It looks bad, to me, anyway. An ugly wound across her beautiful face.

Haymitch tells Bristel and Thom to get home. I see him press coins in their hands before they leave. "Don't know what will happen with your crew," he says. They nod and accept the money.

Hazelle arrives, breathless and flushed, with fresh snow in her hair. She pales slightly when she sees her son on the table, but she sits on a stool next to the table without saying a word, takes Gales hand, and holds it against her lips.

Even in Mrs. Everdeen's expert hands, it takes a long time to clean the wounds, arrange what shredded skin that can be saved, apply a salve and a light bandage place over his back. As the blood clears, every stroke of the lash becomes visible. It looks incredibly painful and there's a tenseness in the room, as we're all afraid that Gale will wake up. And as the final bandages are being placed, a moan escapes from him. Hazelle strokes his hair and whispers something while Prim and Katniss's mother go through what seems a meager supply of painkillers. Katniss watches them anxiously. She knows it's not enough.

I hear them decide on an herbal concoction he can take by mouth now that he's regaining consciousness. "That won't be enough," Katniss speaks up. They look over at her, both with sympathy on their faces. "That won't be enough, I know how it feels. That will barely knock out a headache."

"We'll combine it with sleep syrup, Katniss, and he'll manage it. The herbs are more for the inflammation—" begins Mrs. Everdeen calmly, as if she expected Katniss to react like this.

"Just give him the medicine!" Katniss screams at her, eyes wide with anger and panic. "Give it to him! Who are you, anyway, to decide how much pain he can stand!"

Gale begins stirring at the sound of Katniss's voice, trying to reach for her. The movement causes fresh blood to stain his bandages and an agonized sound to come from his mouth.

"Take her out," says Mrs. Everdeen.

Katniss immediately begins to shout obscenities at her mother while Haymitch and I have to literally carry her from the room. We take her to one of the extra bedrooms and pin her down to the bed until she stops fighting, afraid she'll hurt herself or she'll run back down into the kitchen.

And then she lies there, sobbing, angry, tears trying to squeeze out of the slit in her eye. She looks so miserable and broken, so unlike the Katniss I know. I don't let on how worried I am about her. Her insane thoughts about running away, the uprising in District 8, President Snow's threats, the fact that we failed and how it's going to come back and hit us hard. We are still in just as much danger as we've ever been.

In a hushed tone, I whisper to Haymitch all Katniss has told me. About President Snow, about the uprising in District 8. "She wants us all to run," I say. Haymitch's expression is flat, and he does not offer his opinion on this if he has one.

After a while, Mrs. Everdeen comes in and treats Katniss's face. Then she holds her hand, stroking her arms, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale.

"So it's starting again?" she says. "Like before?"

"By the looks of it," he answers. "Who'd have thought we'd ever be sorry to see old Cray go?"

I know what Mrs. Everdeen means by things starting again. That half-fuzzy memory of that whipping, the grave looks on my parents faces when they'd mention something awful that happened in the past, some injustice done by the peacekeepers…things are starting again like before. Like things were in District 11. Peacekeepers everywhere, our every move watching. Crimes not going unpunished. Yes, things will start again like before. Like I've heard they've been before. It's not until now that I realized how lucky we were to have Cray, who, though his habit of luring starving women into his bed for money was despicable and made him an object of loathing, he never killed citizens. He never whipped anyone. He wasn't official. He didn't care about the Capitol's rules. He let crimes go unpunished, like allowing Katniss and Gale to sell their hunting kills to him without killing them for the crime of going under the fence and poaching.

As hard as Katniss, Gale, and I's generation have had it, it is nothing compared to our parent's generation. I am beginning to understand. The idea of worse times returning has seemed to have registered to all of us though, because when the doorbell rings, Haymitch and I stiffen, Mrs. Everdeen's eyes go wide with fear, and Katniss shoots straight out of bed. Who could it be this at this hour of the night? There's only one answer. Peacekeepers.

"They can't have him," says Katniss immediately.

"Might be you they're after," Haymitch reminds her.

"Or you," she answers.

"Not my house," he points out. "But I'll get the door."

"No, I'll get it," says Mrs. Everdeen quietly.

We all go though, following Mrs. Everdeen down the hall to the insistent ring of the bell. But when she opens it, there's not a squad of Peacekeepers but a single, snow-caked figure. Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter. For a moment I'm confused, but then I remember that her and Katniss are friends. She holds out a small, damp cardboard box out to Katniss and she takes it.

"Use these for your friend," she says. Katniss removes the lids, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. "Use them, please." She runs back into the storm before we can stop her.

"Crazy girl," mutters Haymitch as we follow Katniss's mother into the kitchen.

Katniss was right. Whatever Mrs. Everdeen has given to Gale, it wasn't enough. His teeth are gritted and his flesh shines with sweat. Katniss's mother fills a syringe with the clear liquid from one of the vials and shoots it into his arm. Almost immediately, his face begins to relax.

"What is that stuff?" I ask.

"It's from the Capitol. It's called morphling," answers Mrs. Everdeen.

"I didn't even know Madge knew Gale," I say.

"We used to sell her strawberries," says Katniss, a touch anger in her voice, leaving me wondering what she could possibly be angry about. Didn't Madge just bring Gale medicine?

"She must have quite a taste for them," says Haymitch.

And then I place her anger. Jealousy. The thought that there's something between gale and Madge, which wouldn't surprise me at all given Gale's reputation. But the thought that Katniss is jealous of Madge with Gale in turn fills me with jealousy and a terrible emptiness.

"She's my friend," says Katniss, explaining nothing.

Now that Gale has drifted away on painkillers, everyone seems to deflate. Prim makes us eat stew and bread. A room is offered to Hazelle, but she has to go home to the other kids. Haymitch and I are both willing to stay, but Mrs. Everdeen sends us both home to bed as well. On the way out I give Katniss a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, but her attention is focused on no one but Gale so I don't expect anything back. Haymitch and I leave, and halfway to our respective houses he pauses.

"She won't run," he says.

"I know," I answer. "I know what she's going to do. She's going to try and rebel."

"Stupid girl," growls Haymitch.

"I'm with her."

"I know you are. Makes you stupid too. You really think we stand a chance? The Capitol will just send more and more Peacekeepers. You really think that anyone besides you three would be up to rebelling the Capitol? Do you forget that most of these people barely have enough energy to keep themselves and their families from starving to death on a daily basis? Do you forget that most of these people have never broken a rule in their life, that none of them will want to risk breaking a law and getting whipped, tortured, killed, for the less than zero chance they might make any sort of a difference? None of them will rebel. And we'll be sitting ducks for the Capitol. In fact, any act of rebellion you three make will come back down on all of us. Rebelling will put your families in danger. Will put _her_ in danger. Surely you realize that."

"Of course I do. But what am I going to do, stop her from assembling a mob and walking into town with torches and pitchforks? You know as well as I do there's no stopping her once she gets an idea in her head."

"I know," growls Haymitch. "But she hasn't thought this through. She hasn't thought of the consquences of fighting the Capitol. She hasn't seen the cost of going against the Capitol's agenda like I have. Neither of you have. None of you know what you're getting into. Gale getting whipped? That's just the beginning. You don't know how bad things can get, how bad they _will_ get even without us doing anything against the Capitol."

"That why we have to try, isn't it?"

Haymitch sighs.

"Well, let me know how that works out for you. I need a drink."

And he trudges through the snow to his own house, leaving me standing there in the cold pondering his words and wondering if Katniss really does have no idea what she's getting into, and, indeed, if I have any idea what I'm getting into throwing in my lot with hers.


End file.
